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IRVINE 


NO    NAME    SERIES." 


MARMORNE. 

"  It  is  not,  however,  merely  on  account  of  outward  characteristics  that  we  have 
called  '  Marmorne'  a  remarkable  book.  It  is  also  one  of  the  most  powerful  novels 
of  the  narrative,  as  opposed  to  the  analytical,  class,  that  has  appeared  for  a  long  time," 
says  the  London  Atheii&um. 

Marmorne '  makes  its  appearance  anonymously  ;  but  we  are  persuaded  that  the 
author  is  no  novice,  and  are  inclined  to  fancy  that  we  recognize  the  hand,  .  .  .  which 
reminds  us  not  a  little  of  '  Round  my  House.'  ...  He  has  written  a  novel  which  is 
extremely  fascinating  and  eminently  picturesque,"  says  the  Saturday  Review. 

This  can  only  be  characterized  as  a  masterpiece  of  extraordinary  artistic  sim 
plicity.  ...  In  other  words,  it  is  a  plain  narrative  of  events,  written  with  a  skill  and 
a  power  that  are  truly  admirable,"  says  the  London  World. 

"  As  a  whole,  it  is  one  of  the  best  of  the  series  in  which  it  appears,"  says  the 
Boston  Daily  Advertiser. 

"  We  think  no  reader  of  'Around  my  House'  and  'The  Unknown  River'  will 
hesitate  long  as  to  where  to  fix  the  authorship  of  '  Marmorne,'  »  says  the  Boston  Tran- 
script. 

"  The  descriptive  passages  in  this  book  entitle  it  to  the  first  rank  in  the  <  No  Name 
nes,   but  there  have  been  so  many  good  novels  included  under  that  title  that  we  are 
not  qmte  prepared  to  say  it  is  the  best.     It  is,  however,  good  enough  to  be  included 
among  the  most  successful  stories  of  the  year,"  says  the  Boston  Courier. 

"  We  will  not  call  this  the  best  story  of  the  •  No  Name  Series,'  because  some  one 

is  sure  to  do  it,  each  volume  having  received  that  praise  as  it  appeared.    Cer- 

unly  there  has  been  nothing  better  in  the  series  ;  and,  if  it  is  written  by  an  American 

t  is  a  clever  performance,  for  it  has  a  thoroughly  foreign  air,"  says  the  New  York 

Herald. 

"  '  Marmorne,'  the  latest  of  the  <  No  Name  Series,'  and  by  far  the  best  of  those 
recently  ,ssued  under  the  title.  It  is  attributed,  and  we  think  without  mistake,  to 
the  accomplished  English  painter  and  art  critic,  Philip  Gilbert  Hamerton.  It  is  a 
clever  book,"  says  the  Hartford  Courant. 

"The  '  No  Name  Series '  has  had  a  large  reputation  :  the  present  volume  will  add 
new  admirers,  as  it  is  the  best  of  the  series,"  says  the  Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

"One  of  the  best  of  the  «  No  Name  Series'  which  has  been  thus  far  issued  is  the 
lumber  now  before  us.  From  the  very  outset  it  yields  the  comfort  afforded  bv  the 

•uch  of  a  strong  hand It  is,  in  any  event,  a  book  which  Hamerton  cannot 

regret  to  have  ascribed  to  him,  as  it  is  full  worthy  of  his  genius  and  reputation,"  says 
the  Chicago  Tribune. 

In  one  volume,  16mo.    Cloth.    «ilt  and  red-lettered.    81.00. 

Our  publications  are  to  be  had  of  all  Booksellers.  When 
not  to  be  found,  send  directly  to  the  Publishers, 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS,  BOSTON. 


NO    NAME    SERIES. 


MIRAGE. 


NO    NAME    SERIES. 

11  Is  THE  GENTLEMAN  ANONYMOUS  ?  Is  HE  A  GREAT  UNKNOWN  ? " 

DANIEL  DERONDA. 


MIRAGE. 


BY 

THE   AUTHOR   OF   "  KISMET." 
ft 


ItOrqt 
J 


BOSTON: 

ROBERTS     BROTHERS. 
1878. 


Copyright,  1878, 
BY  ROBERTS  BROTHERS. 


'•'•Natural  laws  we  shall  never  modify ,  embarrass 
us  as  they  may ;  but  there  is  still  something  in  the 
nobler  or  less  noble  attitude  "with  which  we  watch 
their  fatal  combinations." 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGB 

I.      "PARTANT   POUR  LA   SYRIE" 9 

II.    SHOWING  HOW  THEY  WENT  UP  TO  THE  TEMPLE  .  23 

III.  A  CASE  OF  PHOTOGRAPHS 32 

IV.  GOING  TO  JERICHO 45 

V.     SHOWING  WHY  Miss    VARLEY    LOOKED  AT  THE* 

STARS 59 

VI.     'CROSS  COUNTRY 67 

VII.    STONE  WALLS  DO  NOT  A  PRISON  MAKE   ....  81 

VIII.    ON  THE  HOUSE-TOP 96 

IX.    SOME  GOOD  SAMARITANS 106 

X.    BLUE  LILIES 116 

XL     IN  ARCADY 127 

XII.    SHOWING  HOW  MR.  STUART  BROKE  HIS  BRIDLE.  136 

XIII.  BY  THE  WATERS  OF  GALILEE 151 

XIV.  SCHON-ROHTRAUT l6o 

XV.    DAWN 173 

XVI.    AFTER  MANY  DAYS 186 

XVII.    UN  ENFANT  DU  SIECLE 197 

XVIII.    WHICH  CONTAINS  SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  LAW 
RENCE  FAMILY 207 

XIX.    "!L    N'EST    D'AMOUR  si  TRISTE  QUI   N'AIT    SON 

SOUVENIR" 228 

XX.    ONE  SIDE  OF  THE  QUESTION 242 


vm 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXI.    THE  OTHER  SIDE 252 

XXII.    THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END 263 

XXIII.  ANOTHER  STEP 274 

XXIV.  IN  WHICH  MR.  LAWRENCE  READS  MERIMEE  .    .  282 
XXV.    ANOTHER  LIFE    .    . 294 

XXVI.     "AFTER  THREE  YEARS" 306 

XXVII.    THE  LAST  LOOK  BACK 331 

XXVIII.    MIRAGE 340 


MIRAGE. 


CHAPTER    I. 

"PARTANT    POUR    LA    SYRIE." 

HER  name  was  Constance  —  Constance  Varley. 
At  that  time  she  was  probably  between  one  and 
two  and  twenty  ;  a  fair-haired  girl,  with  eyes  as  clearly, 
frankly  blue  as  the  open  blossom  of  a  blue  marsh-flower. 
Of  her  character  and  disposition  it  is  somewhat  more 
difficult  to  speak.  Indeed,  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that 
in  those  days  there  was  no  one  who  had  any  very  defi 
nite  understanding  of  either.  Miss  Varley  herself  had 
perhaps  thought  rather  more  about  it  than  is  common 
with  girls  of  her  age  ;  but,  on  the  whole,  one's  own  self- 
judgment  is  apt  to  be  of  a  vague  and  desultory  nature, 
showing  but  little  of  that  trenchant  singleness  of  im 
pression  —  that  fine  infallibility  of  decision  —  which 
enable  us  to  classify  the  actions,  of  our  fellow-men.  It 
has  already  been  observed  that  the  difficulty  of  judging 
any  human  being  is  materially  increased  by  the  slightest 
study  of  the  subject. 

But  this  was  a  consideration  which,  fortunately  enough, 
had  never  occurred  to  any  of  Miss  Varley's  acquain 
tance.  "  Constance  Varley,  the  dearest  girl  in  all  the 
world  and  my  intimate  friend,  has  promised  to  come 
with  us.  Tom  is  delighted.  I  am  delighted.  I  am 
sure  I  need  hardly  ask  if  you  are  not  delighted  too," 
Mrs.  Thayer  had  written  on  this  occasion  of  their  jour- 


10  MIRAGE. 

ney.  "  But  young  men  are  so  curious  nowadays.  Per 
haps  you  do  not  care  for  pretty  girls  any  longer,  Jack  ?  " 
she  added ;  and  Mr.  Jack  Stuart,  reading  the  letter 
before  his  club  fire,  had  laughed  and  thought  what  an 
inveterate  match-maker  little  Fanny  had  become.  It 
was  reported  later  that  he  had  even  grumbled  a  little 
over  the  fact  to  his  more  intimate  friends ;  protesting 
that  things  had  got  to  a  pretty  pass  when  a  man  could 
not  even  take  a  trip  to  the  East  without  being  let  in  for 
doing  escort-duty  to  a  lot  of  women.  It  was  also  re 
marked  with  what  prompt  and  unanimous  sympathy  the 
complaint  was  received  ;  an  exhibition  of  feeling  which 
certainly  made  it  difficult  to  account  for  the  abnormal 
alacrity  and  interest  displayed  by  Mr.  Stuart  in  his  final 
consultations  with  his  tailor  and  bootmaker  on  the  sub 
ject  of  his  Syrian  outfit. 

"  I  do  like  your  cousin  ;  I  like  him  very  much,"  Miss 
Varley  had  assured  her  friend  in  the  privacy  of  her 
chamber  that  morning.  "  And  then,  you  know,  I  had 
seen  him  before,  ever  so  long  ago  —  at  the  Farm  — so 
that  he  does  not  seem  a  stranger.  But  I  don't  think  he 
can  have  been  quite  so  imposing  then.  At  least,  I 
don't  remember  those  boots."  And  then  Mrs.  Thayer 
had  grown  serious  again,  and  declared  that  Constance 
was  always  making  the  wrong  people  appear  ridiculous. 
"  As  though  I  should  presume  to  laugh  at  such  a  jeune 
premier  as  Mr.  Stuart,  Fanny  ;  unless,  indeed,  I  did  it 
in  self-defence  merely,  as  a  protest  against  being  daz 
zled,"  the  girl  answered  carelessly.  And  then  her  friend 
had  been  pacified,  and  kissed  her,  and  they  had  gone 
out  together  arm-in-arm  into  the  windy  solitude  of  an 
Ismailian  street. 

There  had  !>een  a  good  deal  of  previous  discussion  up 
at  Cairo  as  to  the  length  of  time  to  be  devoted  to  Is- 
mai'lia.  Mrs.  Thayer  had  even  waxed  eloquent  on  the 
subject,  bringing  a  long  array  of  facts  and  guide-books 
in  support  of  her  enthusiasm  ;  but  by  six  o'clock  that 
evening  I  fancy  there  was  but  little  diversity  of  opinion 
left  among  them  as  to  the  interest  and  merits  of  the 


"  PARTANT  POUR  LA   SYRIE."  1 1 

desert  town.  For  Isma'ilia  is  only  a  singularly  flat  place 
—  a  city  built  upon  the  levelled  sand  —  the  wide  spaces 
and  open  look  of  its  streets  reminding  one  of  a  sea 
bathing  village :  its  houses  running  into  that  hopeless 
style  of  ornamentation  which  suggests  the  "  villa  to  let." 
The  greater  part  of  them  are  but  one  story  high,  with 
enormous  projecting  roofs,  from  under  which  the  win 
dows  and  doors  peer  out  with  a  crushed  yet  indomitable 
expression,  and  bear  a  fantastic  resemblance  to  the  face 
of  a  good  man  struggling  with  adverse  circumstance. 
And,  indeed,  as  Major  Thayer  remarked,  the  whole 
place  shares  in  that  fantastic  and  temporary  appearance, 
and  affects  one  oddly  after  awhile,  inspiring  curious 
doubts  as  to  its  probable  duration  and  the  advisability 
of  sleeping  there.  For  there  was  not  a  living  creature 
abroad  that  day.  As  they  passed  along  the  silent 
streets,  through  the  large  abandoned  squares,  their  ad 
vent  seemed  unnoticed  and  unheralded  save  by  the  fierce 
and  steady  wind  ;  and  although  at  first  there  had  been 
a  gallant  effort  made  at  merriment,  it  was  not  long  be 
fore  Mr.  Stuart's  allusions  to  the  promised  beauties  of 
the  desert  town  were  received  with  melancholy  resigna 
tion.  By  the  time  they  reached  the  restaurant  where 
dinner  had  been  ordered,  I  think  their  leading  impres 
sion  was  one  of  blank  dismay. 

At  the  cafe'  door  they  all  paused  for  a  moment,  look 
ing  back.  A  fiercer  gust  of  wind  lifted  a  cloud  of  sand 
across  the  empty  square.  A  thin  despondent  pariah 
dog  limped  painfully  along,  seeking  for  shelter  from  the 
blast.  From  the  large  white  house  across  the  way, 
bearing  the  inscription  Pensionnat  de  Demoisells,  came 
the  feeble  tinkling  protest  of  an  aged  and  unresisting 
piano. 

"  See  Ismailia  and  die,  Fanny,"  suggested  Miss  Var- 
ley  wickedly. 

"  On  the  whole  I  think  I  should  prefer  to  die  first," 
Mrs.  Thayer  answered,  with  conviction. 

But  as  the  evening  wore  on  the  situation  brightened. 
A  long  and  intimate  conversation  with  the  buxom  land- 


12  MIRAGE. 

lady,  who  began  by  informing  them,  with  pardonable 
pride,  of  her  fourteen  years'  residence  dans  cet  affreux 
desert,  and  then  dismissed  the  entire  Eastern  question 
with  a  slight  French  shrug,  had  had  a  reassuring  effect 
upon  their  nerves.  The  discovery  at  the  farther  end  of 
the  hall  of  the  small  theatre,  by  the  aid  of  which  ces 
messieurs  were  wont  to  beguile  their  evenings,  was  a 
still  stronger  argument  in  favor  of  the  problematic 
population. 

"  In  fact,  I  think  you  might  almost  be  justified  in 
stating,  in  your  journal,  that  Ismailia  was  inhabited  at 
a  comparatively  recent  period  of  the  world's  history," 
Major  Thayer  remarked  to  his  wife.  "  I  confess  I  have 
had  my  doubts." 

Miss  Varley  was  examining  the  stage.  Miss  Varley 
was  great  at  private  theatricals.  "  Indeed,  I  consider 
that  quite  one  of  my  specialities,"  she  informed  Mr. 
Stuart  in  a  confidential  aside  ;  "  it  is  a  pity  we  did  not 
know  of  this  place  before.  We  might  have  had  a  re 
hearsal  this  afternoon,  and  astonished  the  natives,  with 
a  view  to  charity,  at  night.  I  should  have  liked  that. 
And  I  should  have  liked  to  see  their  faces  at  home  when 
they  heard,  as  they  would  hear,  that  we  were  starring  it 
in  the  provinces  on  our  way  to  Palestine." 

Mr.  Stuart  laughed,  and  sprang  up  on  the  platform 
beside  her. 

"It  is  not  half  a  bad  little  theatre  this,"  he  said,  ap 
provingly. 

"  The  very  place  for  a  play.     Major  Thayer ! " 

"  Well,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  My  name  is  Pauline,  if  you  please.  But  what  is  the 
'  Lady  of  Lyons  '  without  a  lover  ?  I  want  a  lover  —  " 

"  Why  did  you  not  ask  me,  then  ?  "  said  Jack. 

Miss  Varley  smiled.  "  I  don't  know  about  your  making 
a  good  lover,"  she  answered  calmly.  She  looked  at  him 
critically.  "You  would  probably  move  about  too  much 
on  the  stage.  Major  Thayer,  now,  is  famous  for  his 
Claude  Melnotte,  but  you  —  " 

It  was  not  the  way  in  which  Mr.  Stuart  was  accustomed 


"PARTANT  POUR  LA    SYRIE."  13 

to  have  his  remarks  received.  It  was  a  point  which 
would  bear  arguing,  he  observed,  leaning  up  against  the 
side  scene  and  looking  down  in  Miss  Varley's  face. 
Miss  Varley  might  at  least  have  given  him  a  trial,  he 
objected  —  perhaps  a  trifle  more  earnestly  than  the  oc 
casion  absolutely  required. 

In  the  pause  which  ensued,  Mrs.  Thayer  made  another 
discovery.  The  row  of  wooden  boxes  ranged  along  the 
wall  were  found,  on  inspection,  to  contain  the  entire 
dramatic  wardrobe  of  the  missing  company  ;  and  half 
an  hour  later  any  stranger  happening  in  —  if  such  an 
event  had  been  a  possibility  in  Ismai'lia  —  would  have 
been  rewarded  by  the  spectacle  of  two  gentlemen  in 
Louis  XV.  costume  and  powdered  wigs  sedately  drink 
ing  their  tea  in  friendly  companionship  with  a  somewhat 
dubious  Spanish  peasant  and  a  young  lady  clad  in  com 
plete  bridal  array. 

But  for  this  last  metamorphosis  it  was  the  landlady 
alone  who  was  responsible.  If  mademoiselle  would 
only  allow  her,  she  had  suggested,  there  was  in  her  own 
room  a  costume  —  but  a  costume  !  Of  the  best!  It 
was  but  even  now  that  she  had  been  engaged  in  repair 
ing  it.  If  mademoiselle  would  permit  ?  And  Miss 
Varley  had  laughed  but  submitted. 

As  she  reappeared  some  moments  later  the  landlady 
had  followed  her,  a  wreath  of  artificial  flowers  in  her 
hand. 

It  was  a  thousand  pities  not  to  complete  the  toilette  ; 
and  mademoiselle  looked  so  like  an  angel  in  all  that 
white  :  but  what  would  you  ?  It  was  a  superstition,  a 
betise ;  but  mademoiselle  could  not  have  her  orange- 
blossoms  put  on  by  the  hand  of  an  old  married  woman. 
"  Ca  porte  malheur"  she  said.  If  monsieur  now  would 
consent  ?  Her  quick  eyes  swept  over  the  group  and 
fastened  with  ready  tact  on  Mr.  Stuart.  If  mademoiselle 
would  allow  it  ?  And  Miss  Varley  again  consented. 

But  as  she  threw  off  her  wreath  an  hour  later  it  was 
with  some  slight  petulant  exclamation  of  dismay. 

"  Why  do  you  give  me  orange  flowers  with  concealed 


14  MIRAGE. 

weapons  in  them,  Mr.  Stuart  ?  You  bring  me  bad  luck," 
she  said,  and  held  out  her  hand  for  him  to  see,  A  few 
red  drops  were  slowly  trickling  from  a  deep  scratch 
across  its  soft  pink  palm.  "You  are  like  the  Greeks 
—  your  gifts  are  dangerous.  I  shall  avoid  them  after 
this,"  she  added,  laughing. 

That  Mr.  Stuart's  contrition  was  both  sincere  and 
eloquent  in  its  expression  could  easily  be  gathered  from 
the  heightened  color  with  which  Miss  Varley  turned 
away ;  but  his  actual  words  were  lost  in  the  general 
good-night  which  followed.  The  two  rooms  provided  for 
their  party  were  a  few  steps  farther  down  the  street  — 
large  empty  chambers,  with  doors  opening  directly  out 
upon  the  side-walk. 

"  I  don't  think  Ismai'lia  has  turned  out  so  badly  after 
all,"  Mrs.  Thayer  remarked,  sitting  up  in  bed  the  better 
to  observe  the  slower  movements  of  her  companion. 
"  At  least,  you  seemed  to  be  enjoying  yourself  pretty 
well,  Constance.  I  wonder  what  Jack  thinks  of  the  way 
he  spent  his  evening  now  ?  " 

It  was  a  question  Miss  Varley  professed  herself  unable 
to  answer. 

"  As  a  flirtation  I  think  it  may  be  said  to  have  been  a 
success.  I  do  not  think  —  no,  I  really  da  not  think  I  can 
remember  ever  having  seen  any  thing  progressing  more 
satisfactorily,"  Mrs.  Thayer  continued  lazily  from  her 
vantage-ground  among  the  pillows.  "  But  whether  I 
ought  to  countenance  it  as  your  chaperon — " 

"  Is  a  point  you  may  as  well  decide  upon  to-morrow 
morning,  dear.  At  least,  I,  for  one,  am  going  to  sleep. 
If  my  flirtations  —  I  never  flirted  in  my  life  —  but  if  my 
flirtations,  as  you  choose  to  call  them,  succeed  in  keep 
ing  you  awake,  it  is  more  than  they  have  ever  done  for 
me,"  Miss  Varley  concluded,  with  a  smothered  yawn. 

But  her  next  action  was  perhaps  hardly  in  strict  ac 
cordance  with  the  heartlessness  of  this  speech.  Indeed, 
as  she  turned  her  face  away  from  the  open  window,  its 
changed  and  softened  expression  was  patent  even  to 
Mrs.  Thayer's  sleepy  eyes. 


"PARTANT  POUR  LA    SYRIE."  15 

"  Is  there  any  thing  there  to  be  seen  ?  What  is  it, 
Constance  ? "  she  demanded,  raising  herself  upon  one 
arm.  But  Miss  Varley  had  blown  out  the  light.  It  was 
nothing.  In  fact,  she  was  only  looking  at  the  night,  to 
see  if  there  were  any  stars,  she  answered,  with  some 
confusion.  But  the  sky  was  covered  with  clouds  again, 
and  —  "  that  was  all,"  she  said. 

It  was  between  six  and  seven  o'clock  the  next  morning 
when  they  started  for  Port  Said.  At  first  the  steamer 
crosses  a  wide  lake-like  enclosure  —  whose  waves,  of  a 
deep  sea-blue,  were  lifting  and  tossing  with  what  seemed 
a  new  and  delicious  freshness  after  the  long  tranquillity 
of  the  Nile  voyage  —  and  then  turns  suddenly  aside  and 
enters  the  Suez  Canal,  leaving  behind  it  the  billowy 
sand-hills  of  Ismai'lia,  to  begin  a  long,  long,  endlessly 
long  stretch  of  water,  with  high  steep  banks  on  either 
hand,  which  only  break  at  rare  intervals  and  let  one 
catch  a  glimpse  of  the  vast  level  desert  beyond.  When 
they  started,  the  sky  was  still  clear  overhead,  but  an 
ominous  wind  was  tearing  and  scattering  the  cloud- 
masses  at  the  horizon,  ruffling  the  long  straight  strip 
of  canal,  and  running  along  the  low  gray  fringe  of  shrubs 
that  lines  the  water's  edge. 

The  little  steamer  moved  but  slowly  forward.  Now 
and  then  they  overtook  some  man,  standing  up  to  his 
waist  in  the  canal,  sounding  the  depth  of  the  encroach 
ing  sand.  Once,  an  Arab  sportsman  passed  them,  car 
rying  a  long  gun  over  his  shoulder,  his  head  muffled  in 
countless  folds  of  linen,  his  brown  dress  fluttering  wildly 
in  the  wind.  As  they  drew  nearer  he  slowly  climbed  the 
bank,  turning  again  to  look  at  them,  and  making  Miss 
Varley  point  out  to  her  companion  the  singular  beauty 
and  distinctness  of  a  figure  seen  against  the  desert  sands. 
"  It  is  a  pity  you  were  not  with  us  in  Egypt,"  she  added, 
carelessly. 

As  she  spoke,  Mrs.  Thayer  rose  quietly  from  her 
chair,  gathered  together  her  gloves  and  book  and  par 
asol,  tapped  her  husband  on  the  shoulder,  and  delib 
erately  walked  away  to  the  farther  part  of  the  deck. 


1 6  MIRAGE. 

And  Constance  looked  after  her  with  a  deprecatory 
smile. 

"That  is  Fanny's  little  protest,"  she  said,  laughing. 
"You  see,  Major  Thayer  and  I  have  simply  driven 
poor  Fanny  wild  by  talking  about  the  Pharaohs ;  and 
as  she  hated  the  Nile,  and  as  she  sternly  disapproved 
of  each  temple  and  tomb  and  pyramid,  she  always  flies 
whenever  there  is  any  symptom  of  our  mentioning 
either." 

"  But  you  liked  it,  didn't  you  ?  " 

"  Liked  what  ?  Egypt  ?  Well,  I  don't  think  that  is 
quite  the  way  I  should  put  it.  There  are  some  things 
to  which  the  word  would  hardly  apply,  you  know." 

"  Ah,  yes,  I  see.  I  suppose  you  must  have  found  it 
rather  slow  at  times,"  said  Mr.  Stuart,  simply. 

Miss  Varley  smiled.  It  was  not  exactly  the  idea  she 
had  intended  to  convey.  "I  meant  —  oh,  what  is  the 
need  of  explaining  things  ?  you  know  what  I  mean.  I 
would  no  more  think  of  liking  Egypt  than  of  liking  the 
starlight  or  the  sea.  It  is  one  of  those  things  which  does 
not  admit  of  pretty  epithets.  You  would  not  think  of 
calling  a  sunset  pretty,  you  know." 

"Why  not?  —  except  that  I  should  say  nothing  about 
it  in  all  probability.  I  never  look  at  sunsets  and  that 
kind  of  thing  unfess  somebody  tells  me  to.  Now 
you" —  He  hesitated,  and  looked  at  the  girl  rather 
dubiously.  "  My  cousin  Tom  must  be  the  very  fellow 
to  get  along  well  with  you,  I  suppose.  Tom  can  talk 
poetry  and  all  that  sort  of  stuff  by  the  hour  when  he 
likes." 

"  Oh,  yes.  Major  Thayer  and  I  are  quite  in  the  habit 
of  doing  that,"  she  answered  gravely.  "  You  can  have 
no  idea,  until  you  have  heard  us,  what  extremely  poetical 
people  we  are." 

Mr.  Stuart  laughed.  But  one  could  never  tell  when 
Miss  Varley  was  in  earnest,  or  when  she  was  merely 
chaffing  a  fellow,  he  complained. 

"  That  is  because  every  thing  is  premeditated  with 
me,"  said  Constance.  "  Somebody  told  me  once  that  I 


"PARTANT  POUR  LA   SYRfE."  17 

was  inscrutable.  I  have  been  endeavoring  to  become 
so  ever  since." 

Mr.  Stuart  had  never  guessed  a  conundrum  in  his  life. 
But  still,  impossible  to  comprehend  as  Miss  Varley  might 
be,  he  thought  that  with  an  effort  — 

"  As  though  you  would  be  likely  to  make  an  effort !  " 

"  And  why  shouldn't  I  ?  " 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  Chiefly  because  it  is  not  'your 
nature  to,'  I  suppose." 

"  I  should  like  to  know  how  you  found  that  out." 

"  Oh,  I  'm  a  student  of  character,  Mr.  Stuart  ;  and  I 
have  theories  :  I  believe  in  intuitions  and  things." 

"  I  defy  you  to  tell  me  of  a  single  leading  trait  of 
mine,"  said  Stuart,  throwing  himself  back  in  his  chair, 
and  assuming  as  severely  non-committal  an  expression 
as  was  compatible  with  a  somewhat  weak  yet  handsome 
countenance. 

Miss  Varley  looked  at  him  with  some  attention.  There 
can  be  no  doubt  that  she  was  distinctly  impressed  by 
the  striking  symmetry  of  his  features  in  their  enforced 
repose.  Whether  she  understood  their  weakness  it  is 
impossible  to  say. 

"  You  are  the  very  reverse  of  indolent,  Mr.  Stuart. 
Indeed,  I  am  convinced  that  a  kind  of  stern  devotion 
to  an  ideal  of  unremitting  labor  is  as  marked  a  trait  of 
your  character  as  is  your  love  of  Nature  —  sunsets,  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing,  you  know,"  she  added,  mis 
chievously. 

They  were  both  experiencing  that  slight  but  exhilarat 
ing  form  of  excitement  which  all  young  and  healthy- 
minded  creatures  experience  in  making  one  another's 
acquaintance  —  the  delightful  curiosity  of  the  explorer 
into  strange  lands,  where  each  familiar  object  derives  a 
new  charm  from  its  unaccustomed  surrounding.  And, 
like  other  explorers,  they  began  by  looking  for  resem 
blances.  The  discovery  of  dissonance  and  limitation 
belongs  properly  to  the  second  and  later  period  of  such 
studies.  It  is  true  that  modern  science  and  the  Geo 
graphical  Society  have  curiously  narrowed  the  extent  of 


1 8  MIRAGE. 

lands  as  yet  unclassified.  I  have  sometimes  thought 
that  what  we  have  agreed  to  call  the  best  society  has 
achieved  a  somewhat  similar  result. 

But  this,  I  need  hardly  say,  was  a  reflection  which  did 
not  occur  to  Mr.  Stuart.  Nor  do  I  think  that  either 
then  or  later  did  he  ever  make  any  attempt  at  analyzing 
his  sensations.  For  the  present  it  was  certainly  quite 
enough  for  him  to  sit  beside  this  agreeable  companion, 
whom  chance  had  thrown  in  his  way,  letting  himself  be 
easily  amused,  and  filling  up  the  pauses  between  his 
remarks  by  lazily  watching  the  motion  of  her  fingers. 
Constance  had  remarkably  pretty  hands.  At  that  par 
ticular  moment  they  were  busily  employed  in  alternately 
ruffling  and  smoothing  down  the  delicate  tawny-colored 
head  of  a  large  Syrian  greyhound  —  the  last  purchase 
before  leaving  Cairo.  She  was  leaning  a  little  back  in 
her  chair,  the  dog's  head  resting  on  her  lap ;  and  Mr. 
Stuart's  eyes  followed,  with  a  certain  involuntary  inter 
est,  the  light,  firm  pressure  of  her  touch,  noting,  with  an 
appreciative  eye,  the  warm,  creamy  curves  and  shell- 
pink  dimples  in  the  supple  hand  and  wrist.  An  absurd 
and  unreasonable  impatience  of  her  action  mixed  itself 
up  oddly  enough  with  what  he  was  saying. 

"  You  will  spoil  that  dog,"  he  said,  at  last,  abruptly. 

Miss  Varley  glanced  at  him  with  some  surprise. 

"What  —  spoil  Lione?  Oh,  no;  why  should  I? 
Poor  old  boy  !  Do  see  what  beautiful  eyes  he  has,  Mr. 
Stuart  ? "  She  took  the  dog's  head  in  both  hands,  and 
held  it  up  towards  Jack.  "  Such  loving,  melancholy 
eyes  !  But  I  don't  believe  in  them  one  bit,  you  know. 
People  tell  me  that  these  greyhounds  are  wretchedly 
cold-hearted  creatures  in  their  way ;  and  indeed  this 
fellow  here  did  not  mind  leaving  his  old  master  in  the 
least.  And  he  will  follow  any  one  —  he  will  go  to  Has 
san  as  quickly  as  he  will  come  to  me." 

She  let  his  head  drop  again,  and  one  could  almost 
have  imagined  that  the  dog  understood  her  words,  to 
see  him  lay  a  protesting  paw  upon  her  knee,  and  gravely 
thrust  his  cold  black  nose  into  her  hand. 


"PARTANT  POUR  LA  SYRIE."  19 

"  What  do  you  keep  the  brute  for,  then  ?  "  said  Stuart. 

"  Oh,  I  like  him.  He  reminds  me  of  another  dog  I 
knew  once  upon  a  time.  And  then  all  unreasoning 
animals  are  fond  of  me.  I  don't  entirely  despair  of 
winning  his  affections  yet,  you  see.  Don't  you  believe 
I  can  ? " 

But  Mr.  Stuart  had  moved  his  chair  rather  impatiently 
to  one  side,  and  spoke  of  something  else.  A  moment 
later  he  glanced  around  again.  He  leaned  slightly  for 
ward,  and  took  up  a  string  of  amber  beads  which  lay 
upon  Miss  Varley's  lap. 

"  No,  please.  I  can't  possibly  let  you  have  my  beads 
to  play  with.  I  never  let  any  one  touch  them,"  said 
Constance,  quickly,  putting  out  her  hand. 

"You  had  these  on  yesterday.  Do  you  always  wear 
them,  then  ?  "  holding  the  yellow  string  against  the  light. 

"Always.  I  do  not  think  I  have  been  without  them 
a  day  for  the  last  three  years  or  more.  And  —  will  you 
give  them  back  to  me,  please  ?  " 

"  I  don't  really  see  why  I  should,"  said  Mr.  Stuart, 
deliberately.  "  If  I  did,  it  would  only  be  to  gratify 
you,  and  you  have  refused  to  gratify  me.  You  would 
not  take  my  advice  about  that  dog,  you  know." 

"  Poor  old  Lione  !  "  said  Miss  Varley,  laughing.  She 
bent  down  and  laid  her  cheek  against  the  delicate  tawny 
head.  "  As  though  you  and  I  were  not  to  be  friends 
any  more  !  But  we  are  above  being  dictated  to  in  that 
fashion,  are  we  not,  Lione  ?" 

"  Here,  Lione  !  Come  here,  sir  ! "  said  Mr.  Stuart, 
sharply. 

The  dog  started,  pricked  up  his  ears,  hesitated  for  a 
moment,  and  then  walked  deliberately  over  to  Jack. 

"  That  is  what  Lione  thinks  about  it.  You  see  that  I 
am  generous  enough  to  refrain  from  any  comment," 
said  that  gentleman,  with  a  triumphant  smile. 

Miss  Varley  leaned  languidly  back  in  her  chair.  It 
was  a  lesson  not  to  count  upon  people —  not  even  upon 
dogs,  she  said,  and  folded  her  hands  meekly  together. 
But  the  meekness  was  somewhat  out  of  harmony  with 


20  MIRAGE. 

the  expression  of  her  eyes  a  moment  later.  "  For  a 
member  of  the  Society  for  the  Promotion  of  Cruelty  to 
Animals,  I  am  glad  to  observe  that  your  instincts  are 
rather  better  than  your  principles,"  she  said,  and  looked 
meaningly  at  the  fingers  absently  playing  with  Lione's 
collar. 

Mr.  Stuart  drew  back  his  hand  and  looked  extremely 
foolish.  But  it  was  an  altogether  different  affair,  he 
explained.  There  was  no  resemblance  between  that 
weak  indulgence  of  a  dog's  worst  susceptibilities,  which 
Miss  Varley  was  fostering,  and  the  kindly  yet  authorita 
tive  touch  of  a  master.  It  was  only  proper  some  ac 
knowledgment  should  be  made  of  the  animal's  prompt 
and  commendable  recognition  of  masculine  superiority, 
he  said. 

And  in  the  half-serious  discussion  which  followed, 
Lione's  claims  to  attention  faded  entirely  away,  until  — 
like  many  another  blameless  individual  —  he  found 
himself  of  not  the  slightest  interest  to  the  very  advocate 
who  was  pleading  his  case.  It  was  perhaps  with  a  for 
tunate  philosophy  that  he  accepted  the  situation,  and 
laid  himself  down  to  sleep  at  Mr.  Stuart's  feet.  For 
human  biography  must,  from  a  dog's  point  of  view,  be 
chiefly  characterized  by  a  consistent  lack  of  logic.  And 
much  of  what  followed  was  strictly  biographical.  What 
ever  reason  Mr.  Stuart  might  have  had  for  listening 
with  a  certain  pleasure  to  those  details  of  Miss  Varley's 
home  life,  those  descriptions  of  her  father  and  step 
mother,  those  anecdotes  about  "  the  boys,"  Lione  would 
undoubtedly  have  heard  them  with  the  most  disinterested 
indiffe'rence. 

Of  Jack's  past  history  I  fancy  there  was  something 
more  to  tell  ;  and  yet,  broadly  speaking,  it  could  be 
reduced  to  the  common-place  college  experience  of  an 
ordinary  young  man.  And  following  fast  upon  those 
years  of  hearty  enjoyment  and  involuntary  study,  came 
years  of  work —  Mr.  Stuart  was  in  his  father's  bank  — 
in  which  the  same  liberal  hand  seemed  to  preside  over 
the  proportion  of  enjoyment  to  labor.  Altogether,  a 


"PART ANT  POUR  LA    SYR  IE."  21 

life  flowing  smoothly  and  cheerfully  along  a  well-cut 
channel;  a  healthy,  pleasant,  harmless  —  if  not  a  pic 
turesque  —  existence. 

Once  only  in  the  course  of  that  morning  the  little 
steamer  stopped.  It  was  at  a  small  and  dingy  inn, 
built  close  upon  the  water's  edge,  with  a  rickety  wooden 
piazza  running  around  its  front,  and  a  poor  attempt  at  a 
garden  on  one  side.  A  wretched  little  garden  it  was, 
full  of  great  boxes  of  earth,  in  which  a  few  feeble  gera 
niums  and  some  sickly-looking  verbena-plants  were 
vainly  struggling  for  subsistence.  And  there  was  some 
thing  of  this  same  suggestion  of  useless  effort  in  every 
thing  about  the  place  —  in  the  loose  and  slouching 
figure  of  the  man  who  waited  on  the  steps  to  receive 
such  scanty  orders  for  food  as  the  travellers  might 
give ;  in  the  gaunt  mistrustful  dogs,  creeping  warily 
in  and  out  among  the  tables  ;  in  the  pale  and  hollow- 
eyed  little  woman,  whose  eager,  sallow  face  was  light 
ing  up  with  unfamiliar  smiles  in  answer  to  Miss 
Varley's  questions. 

For,  "  Are  those  your  own  children  ?  "  that  young 
lady  was  asking  in  her  gentlest  voice.  "  You  must  find 
it  very  difficult  to  keep  them  so  wonderfully  neat  and 
clean.  But  what  a  nice  place  you  have  got  for  them  to 
play  in  here,  and  how  pleasant  it  must  be  for  them  to 
sit  in  the  shade  and  see  the  ships  go  by." 

"  They  will  be  getting  wilder,  more  like  savages,  every 
year.  Tony  !  come  here  this  moment  and  speak  to 
mademoiselle  when  she  is  good  enough  to  notice  you. 
But  they  will  not  come  when  you  call  them.  It  is  of  no 
use,"  the  mother  said  in  her  complaining,  peremptory 
voice.  "  They  are  savages." 

"  They  are  dear  littte  children,  I  think,"  said  Con 
stance,  looking  up  with  friendly  eyes.  "  And  I  am  sure 
I  have  something  here  in  my  bag  that  Tony  would  be 
glad  to  see,  if  he  would  only  come  here  for  a  moment." 
She  held  out  her  hand,  and  the  child  crept  shyly  nearer, 
hiding  his  face  in  his  arm,  and  glancing  at  her  furtively 
from  behind  the  shelter  of  each  table-leg  and  chair,  until 


22  MIRAGE. 

at  last  he  gained  courage  to  put  his  small  brown  fingers 
into  hers. 

And  Jack  looked  on  with  an  approving  smile. 

They  were  dirty  little  beggars,  those  children  ;  and 
as  for  the  girl,  Mr.  Stuart  had  never  seen  such  a  terri 
ble  squint  in  his  life.  But  then  it  always  looked  well  to 
see  a  woman  take  to  a  child  —  any  child.  It  was  the 
proper  feminine  thing  to  do.  And  if  there  was  a  thing 
which  Mr.  Stuart  abhorred  — .  "  As  for  myself  I  quite 
dislike  children,  I  assure  you,"  said  Constance,  look 
ing  calmly  up.  "  I  have  two  little  half-brothers  of  my 
own,  you  know,  and  I  find  them  very  disagreeable  in 
a  general  way.  Of  course  that  does  not  prevent  One's 
being  kind  to  the  poor  little  wretches  when  one  has  a 
chance  ;  but  still  —  " 

"  I  wish  you  would  not  say  such  things  about  your 
self.  With  me,  of  course,  it  is  different  ;  but  if  any 
body  else  should  hear  you  make  such  a  speech — I 
should  not  like  it  at  all,"  said  Jack,  very  decidedly. 

And  so  the  afternoon  wore  on.  As  the  hours  passed 
the  day  grew  darker,  there  were  even  a  few  drops  of  rain, 
and  then  —  the  wind  rising  once  more  and  tearing  the 
low-lying  mists  asunder  —  a  brilliant  burst  of  sunshine, 
which  turned  to  reddish  gold  the  shining  rosy  breasts 
of  a  flock  of  pink  flamingoes  rising  from  out  the  marsh. 
It  was  the  last  bit  of  color  in  the  day.  An  hour  later  a 
violent  storm  of  rain  and  wind  was  blotting  out  the  un 
certain  outline  of  the  town.  Even  before  they  left  the 
steamer  they  could  already  hear  that  dull  booming  sound 
of  the  surf  upon  the  shore,  which  in  after  days  became 
a  part  of  all  their  impressions  of  Port  Said. 

The  ladies  were  both  tired  that  night,  Miss  Varley 
especially  so,  and  shortly  after  sUnner  they  had  gone  to 
their  rooms.  But  an  hour  or  so  later,  passing  along  the 
corridor,  Mr.  Stuart  came  suddenly  upon  a  lighted  can 
dle  flaring  wildly  in  the  draught,  and  heard  a  voice  in 
viting  him  to  come  outside  upon  the  terrace  and  listen 
to  the  waves. 

The  rain  had  ceased.     A  fresh  wet  wind  was  blowing 


HOW  THEY  WENT  TO    THE    TEMPLE.     23 

steadily,  strongly  in,  bringing  with  it  the  chill  salty  smell, 
the  monotonous  roar  of  the  turbulent  seething  sea. 

"  We  shall  have  a  rough  passage  to-morrow,"  the  young 
man  said,  looking  up  at  the  inky  blackness  of  the 
sky. 

Miss  Varley  did  not  answer.  She  was  crouching 
against  the  balustrade,  wrapped  in  some  thick  white 
cloak.  Her  hair  was  blown  back  from  her  face,  her 
cheeks  were  pale,  her  eyelids  heavy,  with  the  fierce 
caresses  of  the  wipd.  As  they  entered  the  lighted  hall 
again  Mr.  Stuart  was  struck  by  the  singular  abstracted 
look  of  her  lips  and  eyes. 

"There  is  not  a  star  to  be  seen,"  she  said  absently, 
glancing  up  as  he  closed  and  bolted  the  door.  "  Ever 
since  you  joined  us  —  do  you  know  this  is  the  third  suc 
cessive  night  there  has  not  been  a  star  ?  I  hope  it  is 
not  an  evil  omen." 


CHAPTER    II. 

SHOWING  HOW  THEY  WENT  UP  TO  THE  TEMPLE. 

AND  perhaps  Miss  Varley  was  right.  Perhaps 
there  was  some  occult  influence  at  work.  It 
certainly  looked  like  it  the  morning  they  came  in  sight 
of  Jaffa  —  a  still  gray  morning,  broken  by  brief  sharp 
intervals  of  pattering  rain.  A  morning  made  even  more 
monotonous  bv  the  slow  regular  grinding  of  the  waves 
against  the  beach  ;  made  even  more  disconsolate  by  the 
captain's  hesitation  as  to  whether  they  could  ever  get 
ashore. 

For  the  harbor  of  Jaffa  is  a  mere  convention  —  an 
accident  of  wind  and  tide.  A  long  scattered  reef  of 
rock,  the  debris  of  the  ancient  city,  reaches  across  from 
side  to  side,  broken  only  by  two  narrow  clefts  through 
which  it  is  just  possible  for  boats  to  pass  ;  while  all 


24  MIRAGE, 

about,  a  line  of  leaping  water,  a  cloud  of  high-tossed 
spray,  flashes  and  breaks  beneath  the  overhanging  town. 
For  Jaffa  is  a  city  set  upon  a  hill,  a  storm-bound,  sea 
girt  city,  blanched  and  worn,  and  beaten  by  the  wind  ; 
the  oldest  city  in  the  world,  gray,  heaped,  defiant,  set 
ting  its  steadfast  face  against  the  sea. 

And  clinging  to  its  steps,  thronging  its  dark  and  tor 
tuous  lanes,  what  strange,  what  multicolored  life  is 
there  !  Now  elbowed  off  the  slippery  stepping-stones 
by  some  wild  Russian  pilgrim,  his  worldly  goods  slung 
in  a  cumbrous  roll  across  his  back ;  now  crushed 
against  some  contemplative  Turk  smoking  in  his  door 
way  by  that  long  string  of  heavy-laden  camels,  ad 
vancing  with  the  calm  consciousness  of  size ;  again, 
compelled  to  wade  through  a  pool  of  water  to  avoid  this 
row  of  pushing,  imperturbable  donkeys;  knocked  about 
by  the  natives,  shoved  aside  by  every  porter,  apostro 
phized  in  every  Eastern  tongue  ;  splashed,  muddied  to 
the  eyes. 

"  Did  not  some  one  write  a  book  on  the  '  Pleasures  of 
Eastern  Travel  ? ' "  asked  Mrs.  Thayer  resignedly,  as 
they  passed  out  from  under  the  last  crumbling  and 
grass-fringed  archway. 

A  long- wide  common  in  the  condition  of  a  ploughed 
field  after  an  inundation  —  made  picturesque  with  domes 
of  snowy  canvas,  made  dreary  with  the  mournful  line  of 
Cook  tourists,  each  seated  in  his  own  mud-puddle  at 
the  door  of  his  own  tent  —  and  they  had  reached  a 
lovely  country  lane  winding  up  the  side  of  a  hill  between 
two  gray-green  rows  of  prickly-pear.  Past  these  a  sea 
of  orchards,  bending,  and  fragrant,  and  golden  with 
orange-trees.  The  noise  and  jar  of  the  city  fell  away 
from  them  as  in  a  dream  ;  the  sky  was  all  blue  and 
tremulous  after  the  rain ;  a  weak  soft  wind  came  wan 
dering  across  the  fields,  bringing  with  it  the  sweet 
breath  of  a  world  in  flower;  and,  for  the  first  time, 
Miss  Varley  realized  that  this  was  springtime  —  and 
springtime  in  Syria. 

And,  as  the  hours  passed,  this  impression  only  deep- 


HOW  THEY  WENT  TO   THE   TEMPLE.     2$ 

ened.  It  was  yet  early  in  the  afternoon  as  they  rode 
out  of  the  Jerusalem  Gate.  A  delicate  and  evanescent 
sunshine  flickered  and  played  about  the  day.  The  birds 
were  singing  in  every  hedgerow,  a  warm  and  fitful  wind 
dashed  in  their  faces  as  they  cantered  on.  Looking  for 
miles  and  miles  away,  there  was  no  tree,  no  house,  no 
village  to  be  seen.  Only  the  silence  of  satisfaction 
brooded  above  these  flower-crested  fields,  across  whose 
billowy  sweep  the  lavish  spring  broke  in  a  sea  of  life,  of 
color,  and  of  bloom. 

And  they  rode  on  and  on.  The  sun  sank  lower  on 
the  horizon,  the  pale  sky  whitened,  grew  more  ethereal 
in  the  east  ;  the  pallid  cacti  crowded  once  more  along 
the  narrowing  path,  until,  at  last,  lifting  from  out  the 
gray  and  gleaming  shadow  of  an  olive-grove,  they  saw 
the  tower  of  Ramleh  reddening  in  the  sun. 

Now,  having  once  asserted  that  Mrs.  Thayer,  though 
a  small,  was  yet  a  perfect,  example  of  the  typical  Ameri 
can  woman,  it  is  perhaps  superfluous  to  add  that  Mrs. 
Thayer  was  always  tired.  Indeed,  a  sensation  of  lively 
fatigue  might  be  said  to  represent  her  normal  experi 
ence  of  life.  "I  am  afraid  I  have  been  tiring  you. 
Won't  you  sit  down  and  rest  a  moment,  Fanny?"  the 
Major  was  reported  as  having  said  to  her  one  evening 
at  a  ball.  It  was  in  the  early  days  of  their  engagement, 
and  Miss  Fanny  smiled  rapturously  at  him  in  return. 
"  Oh,  thanks  !  But  it  isn't  of  any  consequence  —  really. 
I  have  been  tired  ever  since  I  was  ten  years  old,  you 
see,"  she  explained,  complacently.  And  a  longer  ac 
quaintance  had  only  induced  her  husband  to  accept  the 
statement  as  a  fact. 

Mrs.  Thayer  was  one  of  those  women  whom  it  is  very 
safe  to  praise.  As  a  girl,  Miss  Morgan  had  been  a 
general  favorite ;  as  a  married  woman,  Mrs.  Thayer 
was  universally  popular.  From  her  cradle  to  her  mar 
riage,  the  same  exhibition  of  pretty  smiling  indifference 
had  won  her  the  same  tribute  and  applause.  The  same 
quality  of  tact  had  obtained  an  identical  result.  From 
the  days  of  lollipops  to  those  of  lovers,  Fanny  Thayer 


26  MIRAGE. 

had  never  offended  a  single  human  being  —  her  very 
success  was  veiled,  and  quiet,  and  endurable. 

She  was  a  little  woman  with  many  principles,  abso 
lutely  no  passions,  and  very  little  digestion.  A  charm 
ingly  pretty  little  woman,  with  a  placid,  affectionate 
disposition.  She  was  good-natured,  clear-voiced,  scru 
pulously  truthful  in  words,  devoted  to  the  Anglican 
Church,  novel  reading,  old  silver,  and  to  Major  Thayer. 
She  was  both  well-informed  and  intelligent,  making  it  a 
rule  to  read  every  new  book  praised  either  in  the  "  Nation  " 
or  the  "Atlantic  Monthly."  She  believed  in  "culture," 
but  was  also  anxious  to  possess  a  "  liberal  mind,"  for 
which  purpose  she  eschewed  modern  furniture,  affected 
gowns  of  a  peculiar  make,  and  read  Matthew  Arnold  — 
whom  as  a  poet  she  secretly  considered  to  be  far  below 
Coventry  Patmore  —  and  she  was  not  incapable  of  lit 
erary  self-denial.  When  it  became  a  social  duty  in 
Boston,  she  was  among  the  first  to  read  and  "analyze" 
the  works  of  Turgenieff.  But  the  novels  in  which  her 
very  soul  delighted  were  those  of  "Ouida." 

In  age,  she  was  about  seven  or  eight  and  twenty  — 
in  appearance,  some  four  or  five  years  younger  —  a 
delicate,  thin  little  woman,  with  small  regular  features, 
very  red  lips,  and  an  appealing  infantine  smile.  Her 
favorite  amusement  —  the  one  which  called  for  all  her 
skill  and  tact  and  power  of  pleasing,  the  one  containing 
too  a  strong  delicious  thrill  of  vicarious  excitement  — 
was  match-making.  I  have  already  stated  that  Miss 
Varley  was  her  favorite  friend.  It  is  even  possible  that 
these  last  two  considerations  had  had  their  share  in 
suggesting  this  Syrian  journey.  Certainly  any  other 
solution  of  Mrs.  Thayer's  sudden  fancy  for  Eastern 
research  seemed  an  inadequate  motive,  viewed  in 
the  light  of  her  injured  incredulity  when  brought  face 
to  face  with  the  ruined  arches,  the  silent  courts  of 
Ramleh. 

"A  tower?  Another  tower  to  climb  when  I  have 
been  riding  —  absolutely  riding —  for  hours  ?  Oh,  Tom, 
this  is  really  not  considerate." 


HOW   THEY   WENT   TO    THE    TEMPLE.      27 

"Poor  Fanny!  But  you  are  right.  Climbing  was 
distinctly  not  in  the  bond,"  said  Constance  gaily. 

"  It 's  a  bore,  of  course.  Seeing  places  is  always  a 
nuisance.  But  I  think  you  will  find  it  rather  mortifying 
later  on  if  you  have  not  done  it,  Fanny.  Why,  even 
Cook's  tourists  do  Ramleh,  you  know,"  suggested  Mr. 
Stuart. 

"  Very  fine  look-out  by  top,  lady.  Him  not  high 
tower,"  added  the  ubiquitous  Hassan. 

But  Mrs.  Thayer  only  shook  her  head  with  a  mild 
obstinacy  peculiarly  her  own.  It  was  really  a  matter  of 
duty,  she  remarked  gently  —  it  was  her  duty  to  abstain 
from  all  superfluous  exertion.  It  was  of  course  difficult 
for  people  in  robust  health,  like  Constance,  for  instance, 
to  appreciate  the  effort  she  had  been  making  all  day. 
It  was  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world  that  Tom  — 

"Poor  little  woman!  But  indeed  I  was  afraid  all 
along  it  would  be  too  much  for  you,"  Tom  interrupted 
her,  with  great  contrition. 

And  then  there  was  a  general  consultation,  which 
ended  in  Mrs.  Thayer  being  put  in  her  saddle  once 
more,  while  her  husband  walked  along  by  her  side. 
She  would  not  hear  of  the  others  following.  It  would 
be  really  too  bad  if  they  all  had  to  miss  the  view  merely 
on  her  account.  Mr.  Stuart  would  certainly  not  object 
to  taking  care  of  Constance  ?  Mr.  Stuart  professed 
himself  delighted. 

They  went  up.  The  latest  shadows  of  late  afternoon 
were  creeping  across  the  plain,  but  the  far-off  line  of  sea 
was  still  shining  in  the  sun,  and  a  pale  golden  light 
floated  above  the  orange  gardens  of  Jaffa.  They  leaned 
out  over  the  crumbling  parapet  together.  From  far  be 
low  rose  up  the  clear  shrill  laughter  of  some  children 
playing  among  the  tombs.  Two  large  brown  birds  started 
from  their  nest  half-way  down  the  tower,  and  sailed 
slowly  past  without  a  motion  of  their  wings.  Constance 
leaned  farther  out,  and  watched  them  lose  themselves  in 
that  wide  sea  of  space.  She  made  a  pretty  picture 
standing  there  —  her  face  all  rosy  with  -pleasure  and 


28  MIRAGE. 

exercise,  and  in  her  eyes,  and  on  her  lips,  a  smile.  The 
gray  old  stones  behind  her  brought  out  in  strong  relief 
the  delicate  blonde  coloring  of  her  face  and  hair.  The 
tightly-fitting  habit  did  perfect  justice  to  each  graceful 
supple  pose  of  the  rounded  figure.  Mr.  Stuart  looked 
at  her  with  simple  admiration.  Nothing  half  so  charm 
ing,  the  young  man  thought,  had  ever  come  into  his  way 
before. 

And  perhaps  this  conviction  may  have  become  some 
what  too  apparent  in  the  fixity  and  eagerness  of  his 
glance.  It  is  certain  that,  before  many  moments  had 
passed,  some  slight  self-consciousness  crept  into  Miss 
Varley's  attitude.  The  color  deepened  a  little  in  her 
cheeks  ;  an  almost  imperceptible  rigidity  tightened  the 
muscles  of  her  mouth  ;  there  was  a  certain  embarrass 
ment  in  the  fluttering  movement  of  the  hands  that  tri 
fled  with  her  whip. 

"  I  think  this  tower  is  charming.  I  delight  in  towers," 
she  said,  abruptly.  "There  is  something  glorious  in 
this  sense  of  height,  of  being  lifted  above  the  world — • 
out  of  life,  as  it  were.  It  makes  all  little  things  seem 
so  petty.  I  don't  wonder  Saint  Simon  Stylites  was  can 
onized.  I  believe  that  living  alone  and  on  an  elevation 
would  even  make  a  saint  of  me." 

"  You  don't  get  dizzy  then  ?  "  said  Jack,  conversation 
ally.  "  Some  people  do,  you  know.  There  was  a  man 
in  my  class  at  Harvard  ;  that  is,  he  would  have  been  in 
my  class,  only  old  Davies — the  mathematical  examiner 
I  was  telling  you  about,  you  know  —  he  conditioned 
him  when  he  came  up  for  his  last  go  at  it ;  gave  him 
another  year,  in  fact,  which  was  a  great  shame  when  you 
consider  —  " 

"  The  moon  !  Mr.  Stuart,  I  see  the  moon.  '  Sun, 
stand  thou  still  upon  Gibeon-;  and  thou,  Moon,  in  the 
Valley  of  Ajalon  ! '  Don't  you  remember  ?  And  there 
it  is."  She  lifted  up  her  hand  and  pointed  to  a  pale 
vaporous  disk,  the  mere  ghost  of  a  moon,  hanging  far 
off  above  the  darkling  hills.  "How  wonderful  —  how 
wonderful  it  is  !  " 


HO IV  THEY  WENT  TO    THE   TEMPLE.     29 

"  Some  one  told  me  a  good  conundrum  about  that  the 
other  day.  Wish  I  could  remember  it.  Something 
about  Joshua.  '  Why  was  the  prophet  Joshua  a  — ' 
No  ;  that  isn't  it.  'When  was  the  moon —  '  ' 

Miss  Varley  started,  and  looked  up  apologetically. 
It  was  very  stupid  of  her,  but  she  had  dropped  her  whip, 
her  favorite  whip.  Had  they  not  better  go  down  and 
look  for  it  ?  she  suggested  innocently. 

To  reach  camp  they  passed  through  the  Turkish 
graveyard.  The  last  glow  of  the  sunset  was  reddening 
all  the  quaint  and  narrow  stones  ;  a  mass  of  flaunting 
anemones  covered  each  grave,  the  blood-red  color  burst 
ing  like  flames  from  out  each  crevice  in  the  wall ;  and 
a  troop  of  Syrian  children  were  pursuing  each  other, 
with  cries  of  wild,  shrill  joy,  along  the  path.  But,  as 
these  two  young  people  rode  on,  the  sun  sank  suddenly 
below  the  horizon  ;  a  sharp  chill  ran  like  a  shiver  through 
the  air;  and  from  between  the  swaying  cypress-trees 
there  came  a  group  of  women,  white-robed,  and  veiled, 
and  silent  as  the  dead.  It  was  a  wonderful  bit  of  effect 
—  the  wilderness  of  wan,  gray  stones,  the  sudden  si 
lence,  the  spectral,  shrouded  figures  among  those  fune 
real  trees.  It  was  an  accident,  of  course.  A  mere 
suggestion.  Something  which  made  Constance  remem 
ber  the  far-off  mystery  of  that  shadowy  moon.  And 
still  the  women  stood  there  motionless  ;  their  long  loose 
garments  waving  in  the  rising  wind  —  "quite  like  a 
transformation-scene  in  a  first-class  London  pantomime," 
Mr.  Stuart  suggested  cheerfully. 

But  Mrs.  Thayer  looked  anxiously  into  her  friend's 
face,  as  they  cantered  up  to  the  door  of  the  largest  tent 
a  moment  later.  "  Surely  you  haven't  been  quarrelling 
with  Jack,  dear  child,"  she  asked  with  genuine  concern. 

"  What  an  idea  !  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  doubtfully  ;  "  I  thought  you 
were  looking  rather  vexed." 

"  It  would  be  difficult  to  be  vexed  with  Mr.  Stuart," 
Miss  Varley  answered  dryly.  "  Mr.  Stuart  was  most 
amiable,  certainly.  He  saw  something  which  reminded 


30  MIRAGE. 

him  of  a  conjuring  effect.  He  has  been  telling  me  all 
about  it  —  about  Maskelyne  and  Cooke  —  their  princi 
pal  tricks,  you  know,  ever  since  we  left  Ramleh."  And 
then,  in  answer  to  the  puzzled  look  which  still  cast  its 
shade  upon  Mrs.  Thayer's  countenance,  "  You  dear  little 
goose,"  she  said  lightly,  resting  her  hands  upon  Fanny's 
shoulders  and  looking  affectionately  into  her  face,  "  why 
don't  you  cultivate  a  little  Eastern  hospitality  instead  of 
standing  there  and  criticising  me?  Or  is  this  intended 
for  a  base  modern  imitation  of  Abraham  entertaining 
the  angel  in  the  doorway  of  his  tent  ? " 

They  went  in.  These  Syrian  tents  are  luxurious 
resting-places  in  their  way.  "  It  reminds  me  of  a 
painted  tomb,  don't  you  know.  One  of  those  Theban 
tombs,  I  mean,"  said  Major  Thayer,  looking  around  at 
the  brilliant  and  fantastic  red,  and  blue,  and  white,  and 
yellow  decorations  of  his  canvas  walls.  "  I  think  it 
simply  enchanting,"  said  Fanny,  enthusiastically,  from 
the  depths  of  the  easiest  chair.  "  So  picturesque  !  give 
me  that  footstool,  Jack  ;  so  gipsy-like  —  and  the  cushion. 
Thanks.  I  never  could  understand  why  soldiers  make 
such  a  fuss  about  roughing  it.  I  suppose  they  can't 
help  it  though,  being  men."  —  "Him  very  good  when 
him  dry,  lady,"  suggested  Paolo,  darkly.  But  it  was  only 
the  waiter  speaking.  The  prophetic  murmur  passed 
unheard. 

The  next  morning  the  sun  was  still  low  in  the  east  as 
Constance  threw  open  the  curtains  of  her  tent.  Before 
her  lay  a  white  and  shining  world,  all  glistening  with 
dew.  Early  as  it  was,  the  camp  was  already  in  move 
ment  ;  a  thin  blue  smoke  curled  up  from  between  the 
olive-trees,  a  group  of  muleteers  were  taking  their  coffee 
before  the  fire.  As  she  crossed  the  field  towards  the 
picketed  horses,  a  weird  chorus  of  welcome  rose  from 
beside  the  road,  —  a  sound  which  made  her  start,  and 
drop  her  flowers,  and  then  walk  hastily  back  to  the 
shelter  of  the  tents.  For  she  had  come  upon  a  ghastly 
sight,  a  circle  of  Syrian  lepers  hanging  about  the  out 
skirts  of  the  camp,  pale,  crippled  shapes,  whose  hollow 


HOW   THEY   WENT   TO    THE    TEMPLE.     31 

cries  for  alms  rang  like  a  mockery  through  the  clean 
new  gladness  of  the  day. 

"  Poor  things  !  I  am  not  quite  sure  if  it  is  right  to 
pity  them,  though.  Being  in  the  Bible,  and  all  that, 
makes  such  a  difference.  And  any  thing  so  exception 
ally  horrible  must  be  accepted  as  the  manifest  working 
of  Providence,  of  course,"  Fanny  remarked,  looking 
mournfully  about  the  breakfast-table  as  she  spoke. 

"  As  though  Providence — " 

"  Now  don't,  Tom  ;  don't,  there  's  a  dear  !  Don't  be 
profane.  It  is  such  mauvais  genre.  And  when  you 
think  we  shall  see  Jerusalem  to-day  !  Why  it 's  like  a 
pilgrimage,  something.  —  Oh,  that  milk  !  Constance, 
look  at  that  milk,  will  you?  And  after  all  that  I've 
said.  Really,  Tom,  I  wish  you  would  speak  to  Hassan 
yourself  about  it.  There  are  some  things  in  life  that 
can't  be  borne,  you  know,"  said  Mrs.  Thayer. 

The  day  was  cloudless.  The  lines  of  the  hills  were 
soft ;  they  seemed  to  lead  the  soul  away  into  a  dream 
of  peace.  This  Syrian  scenery  moves  one  with  a  strange 
emotion.  Is  it  religion  ?  is  it  the  lingering  superstition 
of  childhood  —  the  faint  persuasive  vision  of  far-off 
days  ?  For  the  one  supreme  goodness  of  the  world's 
history  has  left  a  crowning  grace  on  field  and  sky  ;  the 
peace  which  passeth  all  understanding  broods  over  these 
sunlit  spaces  ;  there  is  the  shadow  of  a  Presence  among 
those  far  blue  hills.  It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  before 
the  travellers  reached  the  level  road  again.  For  hours 
the  path  had  climbed  higher  and  higher  through  thin, 
pale  olive-groves,  past  crumbling  ruin  and  wall,  higher 
and  higher  among  the  pale  and  desolate  hills.  And  it 
was  evening  when  they  saw  Jerusalem.  Its  gray  wall, 
its  towers  and  domes,' lay  before  them.  They  had  just 
made  the  last  ascent  of  the  road,  and  taken  a  last  turn, 
when,  suddenly,  the  city  of  great  renown  —  small,  gray, 
impressive  —  was  there.  Pilgrim  and  Crusader  had 
been  here  before  them.  For  centuries  that  narrow  road 
had  been  pressed  by  hastening,  weary  feet ;  the  eyes  of 
countless  thousands  had  strained  to  see  that  spot ;  and 


32  MIRAGE. 

with  what  thoughts,  with  what  deep  reverence,  what  won 
der,  what  awe,  begotten  by  no  other  city  of  this  great 
world  !  Classic  Rome,  marvellous  Athens,  radiant  Paris, 
or  mighty  London  —  could  they  quicken  and  still  the 
sense  of  all  that  is  momentous  and  unanswerable,  like 
this  gray  Judean  fortress,  this  old  stronghold  of  religion, 
this  shrine  and  this  tomb  ? 

They  were  a  motley  crowd  of  wayfarers  upon  the 
narrow  pass  that  day.  Strange  pilgrims,  footsore  and 
ardent ;  strange  pilgrims  from  the  steppes  of  Russia, 
and  from  the  naked  hills  of  Spain  ;  pilgrims  from  north 
and  south,  and  east  and  west  —  spell-bound,  and  awe 
struck,  and  dumb  ! 

And  then,  in  the  gray  hush  of  that  colorless  twilight, 
they  all  moved  on  together  to  where  the  best  blood  of 
the  great  mediaeval  ages  has  thronged;  to  where  the 
best  thought  of  all  ages  has  turned  ;  to  the  gate  whence 
came  forth  the  Jews  and  Gentiles  who  had  known, 
heard,  seen,  and  —  crucified  Jesus  Christ. 


CHAPTER   III. 

A   CASE   OF   PHOTOGRAPHS. 

ONE  day  they  rode  to  Bethany.  The  path  wound 
about  the  foot  of  the  Mount  of  Olives,  and  then 
up  a  steep  and  stony  defile.  As  they  rode  on  they 
looked  down  into  valleys  and  out  across  the  rounded 
slopes  of  barren  hills,  all  gray  with  stones  and  dark 
with  olive-trees,  to  where  a  line  of  more  luxuriant  green 
followed  the  tortuous  Jordan  in  its  course,  and  the  Dead 
Sea  water  lay  all  blue  and  shining  in  the  light.  It  was 
a  warm  and  windless  afternoon,  and  the  gray  old  world 
seemed  sleeping  in  the  springtime  sun.  Every  thing 
was  full  of  an  ineffable  sense  of  repose,  of  peace,  and 
long  unbroken  silences. 


A    CASE   OF  PHOTOGRAPHS.  33 

Bethany  itself  is  a  small  gray  village,  built  of  stone  — 
a  dozen  nouses  walled  about  and  made  secure  against 
the  Bedaween  raids.  At  the  sound  of  the  clattering 
hoofs,  a  troop  of  pretty,  ragged  children  came  swarming 
out  of  every  hut  —  an  eager,  laughing,  light-footed  band 

—  pushing  about  the  horses'  feet,  offering  for  sale  wild 
masses  of  weeds  dragged  from  the  nearest  bank,  crying, 
gesticulating,  appealing:  a  sudden  whirl  of  noise,  and 
life,  and  color.     They  saw  the  house  of  Lazarus  ;  they 
clambered  down  a  steep  and  broken  flight  of  stairs  into 
the  small,  dark  opening  of  the  rock-hewn  tomb ;  they 
gathered  wild-flowers  by  the  door ;  they  feed  the  guar 
dian,  they  feed  the  children,  they  feed   some  ancient 
women  who  were  waiting  on  the   road ;  and  then  they 
stood  and  looked  at  each  other  with  that  blank,  serious, 
somewhat    embarrassed    expression    not    unfamiliar    to 
travellers  upon  consecrated  ground.     Nothing  is  more 
perturbing  than  the  absence  of  an  expected  emotion. 

It  was  along  the  upper  road  that  they  returned  to  the 
city.  The  stone-strewn  fields  were  full  of  blossoming 
almond-trees,  a  miracle  of  grace  and  color  among  the 
naked  hills  encompassing  Jerusalem.  There  was  even 
a  certain  pathos  in  the  mingling  of  this  frail  and  ex 
quisite  beauty  with  the  bleak  sternness  of  the  landscape 

—  it  was  like  the  tenderness  of    Christ  crowning  and 
transfiguring  the  stern  and  rigid  forms  of  the  old  Jewish 
faith.     And  as  the  twilight  fell  about  them,  the  rose- 
tinted  bloom  of  the  trees  seemed  to  deepen  in  color,  a 
faint  pink  flush  glowed    along  every  rocky  steep  —  an 
effect  inconceivably  lovely  as  seen  against  that   back 
ground  of  gray  sky,  gray  hills,    and  gray  and    ghostly 
graves.      For  they  had   passed   the   Garden  of   Geth- 
semane  —  a  small,  silent  enclosure,  made  shadowy  with 
olive-trees,  made  sweet   and  bright  with  common   cot 
tage  flowers :  the  faint  clinging  smell  of  lavender,  keen- 
scented  thyme,   or    rosemary,  could  always    bring  that 
moment  back  to  Constance.     They  had  left  the  garden 
behind  them,  and  had  entered  the  shadow  of  the  city 
walls,   down  in  that    silent  valley  where  the  dead  lie 


34  MIRAGE. 

thick  and  close,  a  solemn  line  of  sentinels  guarding  the 
City  of  the  Grave.  And  as  they  checked  their  horses 
at  the  gate  the  last  red  color  faded  from  the  sky ;  high 
overhead  the  pale  new  moon  was  floating  in  a  sea  of 
silvery  mist. 

"  And  that  was  not  a  bad  idea ;  not  a  bad  idea  by 
any  means,"  remarked  Mr.  Stuart  approvingly,  as  he 
helped  Mrs.  Thayer  to  dismount  before  the  tents  beyond 
the  Jaffa  gate. 

"You  like  Bethany,  lady?  Very  nice  place.  Some 
day  you  go  there,  stay  all  day.  Take  your  Bible  and 
your  lunch  with  you,  and  make  his  picture,"  suggested 
Hassan,  cheerfully. 

"Oh,  I  shall  certainly  go  there  repeatedly.  I  think 
it  is  quite  the  ideal  distance  for  a  ride,"  Mrs.  Thayer 
concluded. 

But  in  fact  they  never  saw  the  place  again.  That 
night  the  weather  broke.  The  steady  beating  of  the 
rain  wakened  Miss  Varley  more  than  once,  and  there 
was  a  certain  fascination  in  the  sound ;  a  singular  ex 
ultation  in  listening  to  the  gusty  wailing  of  the  tempest 
held  at  bay  beyond  those  canvas  walls.  It  was  perhaps 
rather  more  singular  than  agreeable  seen  by  the  dull 
gray  light  of  morning.  Mrs.  Thayer  certainly  found  it 
so.  By  midday  she  had  traversed  every  shade  of  feeling 
comprised  between  an  amiable  resignation  to  the  in 
evitable,  and  a  gentle  but  immovable  determination  to 
avoid  it.  By  one  o'clock  they  had  struck  camp,  and 
half  an  hour  later  were  safely  under  cover  again — but 
this  time  at  the  Damascus  Hotel. 

It  is  a  curious  old  house  in  its  way.  "  A  capital  sub 
ject  to  sketch.  I  should  call  it  a  '  Study  for  a  Stair 
case,'  myself,"  the  Major  remarked.  A  quaint  confusion 
of  small  stone  platforms  and  narrow  stairs,  where  each 
room  opens  out  upon  a  different  plane,  and  the  safe 
crossing  of  the  various  terraces  becomes  a  cause  for 
congratulation  in  wet  weather ;  but  it  was  a  comfortable 
old  place  as  well,  and  one  which  Mrs.  Thayer  showed 
but  little  inclination  to  abandon. 


A    CASE   OF  PHOTOGRAPHS.  35 

"  For  if  I  never  can  take  the  slightest  interest  in  any 
thing  unless  I  am  both  warm  and  dry,  and  if  the  stones 
hurt  my  feet,  and  the  camels  tread  upon  me  —  well,  look 
as  though  they  were  going  to  tread  upon  me,  then  — • 
and  if  I  hate  Jews,  what  is  the  use  of  my  going  out  in 
this  weather,  Tom  dear?  And  then  you  and  Constance 
always  see  so  much  more  than  I  do.  It 's  really  a 
waste  of  energy  for  me  to  go  myself." 

"  J'aime  mieux  le croire  que  d'y  alter  voir.  But  unless 
you  are  careful  you  will  see  Jerusalem  with  the  eye  of 
faith  and  with  that  eye  alone,"  Miss  Varley  answered 
her  on  one  occasion. 

"  I  like  that,  when  I  am  the  only  one,  positively  the 
only  one  of  you,  who  keeps  a  journal  !  But  you  can't 
expect  me  to  see  things  and  write  about  them  too,  and 
I  have  filled  in  every  thing  up  to  yesterday,  Constance. 
Suppose  you  tell  me  what  you  have  seen  to-day?  To 
reward  you,  I  will  make  you  a  cup  of  tea.  You  must 
be  half-frozen,  poor  child  !  I  declare  it  makes  me  shiver 
even  to  look  out  at  such  weather." 

"Oh,  it  is  not  raining  now.  Tom  says  the  weather  is 
clearing  up.  The  clouds  are  blowing  all  away  to  sea 
ward,"  said  Miss  Varley,  carelessly,  walking  over  to  the 
window  as  she  spoke.  "But,  O  Fanny,  you  ought  to 
have  seen  the  sunset  from  the  roof  of  the  Armenian 
Convent !  We  have  been  up  there  for  the  last  hour  or 
more,  exploring  ;  going  into  chapels,  and  out  upon  ter 
races,  and  under  archways,  and  across  wide  empty  courts 
—  a  place  as  confused  as  a  dream.  When  we  had  lost 
ourselves  for  the  third  or  fourth  time  we -climbed  a  last 
staircase,  and  came  suddenly  out  upon  a  crowd  of  Greek 
pilgrims,  women  and  girls,  all  dressed  in  white,  with 
beautiful,  sad  faces  —  such  faces,  Fanny  !  —  and  still, 
dark  eyes.  There  must  have  been  a  hundred  of  them 
at  least,  sitting  in  groups  along  the  parapet,  waiting  for 
some  service  to  begin  ;  and  behind  them  such  a  sunset  — 
a  great,  shining  sky  of  gold.  It  was  like  —  "  She  hesi 
tated.  "It  was  like  my  child-idea  of  heaven,  I  think." 

"  Ah,  yes." 


36  MIRAGE. 

Mrs.  Thayer  poked  the  fire,  drew  her  furs  closer  about 
her,  and  leaned  more  luxuriously  back  in  her  chair. 
"  Well,  go  on  ;  and  before  that?  " 

"  Oh,  we  had  merely  been  wandering  about,  looking 
for  a  walk.  Down  the  Via  Dolorosa,  by  the  house  of 
Pilate,  through  the  bazaars.  You  know  how  I  delight 
in  these  old  streets.  Somehow  it  seems  a  perfect  reve 
lation  to  me  that  Jerusalem  should  be  picturesque.  And 
we  have  been  in  wonderful  places  —  sombre  and  arched 
and  vaulted  passages  ;  ways  where  the  light  cut  through 
the  shadows  like  —  " 

"Like  the  pavement  through  one's  boots  ?  " 

"  Well  —  admitted  !  "  laughing  ;  "  but  then  I  console 
myself  for  that  by  looking  on  these  stones  as  on  the  very 
'rocks  of  offence  —  for  a  gin  and  for  a  snare  to  the  in 
habitants  of  Jerusalem.'  But  never  mind  that.  After 
awhile  we  found  ourselves  in  that  sunken  courtyard 
before  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre.  It  was  late, 
and  the  place  was  almost  empty ;  no  image-sellers  ;  not 
more  than  a  dozen  bead-merchants;  not  even  a  —  " 

"  Then  Tom  did  not  get  my  rosary,  after  all  ?  " 

"  Tom  was  not  there." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  thought  you  said  you 
both  —  " 

"  I  meant  Mr.  Stuart  and  myself,"  said  Constance. 

"  Ah,  yes.     I  see." 

A  pause. 

"  And  was  it  with  Tom  or  with  Jack  that  you  went 
to  your  heavenly  convent,  then  ? " 

"With  Mr.  Stuart.     Why?" 

"  Oh  —  nothing.  I  merely  ask  for  information's  sake, 
you  know." 

Miss  Varley  was  silent  for  a  moment.  When  she  next 
spoke  it  was  with  a  somewhat  quickened  voice,  with 
somewhat  heightened  color  on  her  cheek.  "  As  far  as 
that  goes,  Mr.  Stuart  and  I  have  been  alone  nearly  all 
the  afternoon.  Tom  left  us  at  the  first  bazaar.  I  had 
not  the  slightest  idea  that  you  would  mind  our  going  on 
without  him,  and  so —  Why,  Fanny,  it  was  for  you  — 


A    CASE  OF  PHOTOGRAPHS.  37 

for  your  crosses  —  that  Tom  went.  He  said  you  told 
him  —  " 

Mrs.  Thayer  smiled  —  a  peculiar  smile.  "Well  !  It 
is  of  no  great  consequence,  fortunately.  There  is  really 
no  one  we  need  care  for  here  ;  and,  at  the  very  worst, 
they  could  only  mistake  you  and  Jack  for  —  "  She 
checked  herself  with  a  suggestive  laugh.  "  Well,  and 
afterwards  ?  For  you  really  have  told  me  nothing  for 
the  journal  yet." 

"But  Mr.  Stuart  —  " 

"  I  positively  can't  put  him  in  again  ;  nor  the  weather. 
Tom  insisted  last  night  my  journal  read  like  a  meteoro 
logical  report  of  Jack's  proceedings  already,"  said  Fanny, 
plaintively.  And  Miss  Varley  went  on  with  her  story. 
It  had  been  late  in  the  day  when  the  two  had  wandered 
into  the  church.  Coming  out  of  the  cheerless  afternoon 
into  that  close,  warm,  silent  darkness,  they  had  groped 
their  way  along  —  lured  by  the  sound  of  distant  music  — 
until  they  reached  the  Russian  portion  of  the  edifice. 
Some  brilliant  and  peculiar  service  was  being  performed. 
From  three  to  four  hundred  pilgrims  knelt  upon  the 
ground,  each  with  a  lighted  taper  in  his  hand  ;  incense 
was  pulsing  out  in  clouds  of  pale  blue  smoke  ;  the  sound 
of  music  poured  from  out  the  chapel-door  ;  the  myriad 
candles  rose  and  fell  in  flickering  lines  of  flame,  as  their 
bearers  stood  or  knelt  to  the  mournful  chanting  of  the 
priests.  It  was  a  wonderful,  magical  effect. 

Standing  aside,  and  in  the  shadow,  Miss  Varley 
watched  the  crowd  stream  down  the  chapel-steps  —  a 
long  procession  of  figures  —  men,  women,  children,  clad 
in  strange  garments,  in  cumbrous  furs,  all  speaking  of 
the  North.  And  in  each  hand  there  was  a  sacred  light ; 
and  on  each  face  there  shone  a  wild  and  fervent  faith. 

"They  were  peasant-faces,"  she  said;  "dull  faces, 
deadened  by  poverty,  grown  old  and  hard  in  dreary 
acceptance  of  privation  and  pain.  But,  as  we  stood 
there,  I  thought  of  what  that  moment  was  to  them  ;  I 
thought  of  the  place  this  pilgrimage  would  hold  in  their 
memory  —  the  one  poem,  the  one  emotion,  the  supreme 


38  MIRAGE. 

flowering  of  all  those  barren  years  of  toil ;  I  looked  at 
the  uncouth,  misshapen  feet,  at  the  poor  rough  hands 
deformed  by  daily  drudgery  ;  I  thought  of  all  the  steps 
that  had  been  taken,  of  all  the  weary  days  and  nights 
those  men  had  wandered  on  —  poor  human  things,  ig 
norant,  superstitious,  despised  —  thousands  upon  thou 
sands  of  them  crossing  the  bitter  steppes  of  Russia,  the 
swollen  rivers,  the  dreaded  unfamiliar  sea ;  giving  up 
country,  home,  life  even,  to  stand  upon  the  spot  where 
One  has  stood  to  whom  all  men  were  equal,  all  sorrow 
was  sacred,  all  suffering  was  familiar.  They  were  only 
a  handful  of  Russian  peasants  ;  but,  Fanny,  I  looked 
at  them  and  I  thought  of  the  way  in  which  we  entered 
Jerusalem,  and  it  made  me  —  oh,  it  made  me  ashamed 
to  be  alive  !  " 

She  had  risen  and  gone  to  the  window  again  —  a  tall 
slim  figure,  seen  against  the  twilight  gray — the  light 
lingering  a  little  upon  her  clasped  white  hands,  upon 
the  pure  and  earnest  face.  There  was  a  moment's  si 
lence  in  the  room,  and  then  Mrs.  Thayer  moved  uneasily, 
and  coughed  a  little  dry  cough,  and  spoke. 

"  I  think  we  ought  to  be  upon  our  guard  against 
being  too  much  taken  by  these  foreign  ceremonies,  Con 
stance.  You  know  what  dear  old  Dr.  Adams  used  to 
say :  '  If  the  Catholic  Church  could  only  be  clearly 
separated  — ' ' 

"  It  is  not  that  !  It  is  not —  Oh,  Fanny,  can't  you 
understand  ?  It  is  not  that  they  are  Catholics  or 
Greeks  ;  it  is  not  that  they  belong  to  any  one  Church  ; 
it  is  the  faith  —  the  belief — the  spirit  of  it  all !  Some 
of  them  have  been  a  year  upon  the  way.  Think  of 
what  that  means  —  a  year.  And  they  are  coming 
always  —  thousands  of  them.  Coming  from  north  and 
south  ;  people  of  different  race,  of  different  nature, 
of  different  life;  and  all  coming  here,  and  all  moved 
by  one  common  impulse  of  adoration,  by  one  common 
sorrow,  by  one  great  common  need  of  hope,  and  pity, 
and  love." 

She  crossed  the  room  quickly  and  knelt  down  beside 


A    CASE   OF  PHOTOGRAPHS.  39 

Fanny's  chair.  "  It  is  like  finding  a  new  horizon.  It 
makes  all  life  seem  larger  —  one's  own  life  smaller," 
she  said. 

But  Mrs.  Thayer  only  looked  at  her  with  gentle 
wonder.  "  I  don't  think  I  care  particularly  about  dis 
cussing  such  subjects  myself.  I  always  think  they 
have  all  been  settled  for  us  by  people  who  knew  much 
more  about  it  than  we  possibly  can,"  she  said,  with  all 
the  mild  conviction  of  a  woman  who  never  missed 
attending  church  except  in  the  severest  weather,  and 
wore  "  appropriate  "  bonnets  in  Lent.  And  then,  after 
a  moment's  pause  :  "  Jack  is  quite  right.  I  never  saw 
any  one  look  so  well  in  a  heavy  cloak  as  you  do,  Con 
stance.  I  think  it  suits  your  figure,  you  know,"  she 
added  cheerfully. 

But  Miss  Varley  did  not  answer.  The  last  gleam 
faded  from  off  the  gray  old  city  at  her  feet  ;  here  and 
there  some  jewel-like  spot  of  flame  began  to  shine 
through  the  gray  monotony  of  twilight ;  it  was  all  so 
still  that  she  could  even  hear  the  slow  dropping  of  the 
rain  from  off  the  eaves.  The  gray  clouds  drifted 
slowly  to  the  sea,  she  pressed  her  forehead  wearily 
against  the  window-pane,  and  her  thoughts  followed 
•them  out  with  a  familiar  longing,  —  a  new  and  pas 
sionate  regret. 

Conversation  at  table  (Thole  that  night  went  on  very 
much  in  the  usual  way. 

"  Cook  tourists  ?  oh,  dear  me,  no  !  Only  fancy, 
Maggie,  this  gentleman  thought  we  belonged  to  Cook  !  " 
said  a  thin,  dark-haired,  and  vivacious  young  lady  of 
some  five-and-thirty  years  to  a  stolid  English  maiden 
sitting  by  her  side.  And  the  young  person  addressed 
as  Maggie,  looked  up  with  a  fine  disdain.  "  We  are 
travelling  under  the  escort  of  Mr.  Gaze.  We  are  a 
select  party.  And  Gaze  is  very  genteel,"  she  remarked 
calmly. 

"  Ah,  I  see.  It  must  be  very  pleasant  to  be  select," 
said  Major  Thayer,  gently.  "  I  am  afraid  I  should  find 
it  rather  trying  myself,  particularly  with  my  plebeian 


40  MIRAGE. 

tastes,  for  /,delight  in  Cook.  I  envy  all  the  'person 
ally-conducted  '  people  I  meet.  And  I  found  a  prophecy 
about  them  the  other  day  —  it  is  in  Isaiah:  'For  the 
multitude  of  thy  strangers  shall  be  like  small  dust,  and 
the  multitude  of  terrible  ones  shall  be  as  chaff  that 
passeth  away.'  Rather  neat,  I  thought,  considering." 

"  My  dear  Tom  !  "  from  Mrs.  Thayer,  in  parenthesis. 

And  at  that,  old  Mr.  McMoon  —  the  same  elderly, 
smoke-dried,  gray-haired  Scotchman  whom  they  had 
met  at  Jaffa :  the  man  Miss  Varley  had  nicknamed 
"  Lunar  Caustic  "  —  old  Mr.  McMoon  then  looked  up 
with  something  of  a  twinkle  in  his  dull  gray  eyes. 
"You  have  no  heard  my  story  yet,  I  'm  thinking,?  he 
said,  speaking  with  great  deliberation.  "  I  was  a 
Cookite  myself  in  the  beginning  —  we  have  all  been 
monkeys  once,  you  know  —  but  I  left  them  at  the 
second  camp.  '  Will  ye  no  come  and  join  us  at  our 
friendly  chants  this  evening,  Mr.  McMoon ! '  says  the 
head  man  to  me.  '  It  is  our  custom  here  to  praise  the 
Lord  with  pipe  and  tabor  as  we  move  along  towards 
Zion,'  says  he.  '  As  we  go  where  ? '  says  I.  '  Towards 
Zion ;  towards  the  Heavenly  City,'  says  he,  getting 
rather  red  in  the  face.  '  Very  sorry,  but  I'm  afraid 
there  has  been  some  mistake.  I  '11  complain  about  it 
at  the  office  when  I  get  back,  for  I  see  my  ticket  has 
only  been  made  out  for  this  world,'  I  said.  And  the 
next  morning  I  left  them." 

Mrs.  Thayer  and  Constance  exchanged  glances. 
"  You  don't  really  expect  us  to  believe  that  ? "  said 
Miss  Varley,  laughing. 

"  It 's  a  fact,  my  dear  madam,  I  do  assure  you. 
And  there  was  another  young  fellow  there  —  a  harm 
less,  feckless  sort  of  laddie —  who  went  about  in  hunting 
trim  ;  so  they  gave  him  the  pick  of  the  horses  when  we 
left  Jaffa.  '  And  why  don't  you  come  on  and  try  a  wee 
bit  canter,  then  ? '  I  asked  him  when  we  had  been  riding 
for  a  mile  or  two.  '  Oh  Mr.  McMoon,'  said  he,  '  some 
one  has  been  meddling  with  my  boots,  and  I  Ve  lost 
one  spur,  and  I  don't  like  to  touch  him  up  with  the 


A    CASE   OF  PHOTOGRAPHS.  41 

other/  said  he.  'Why,  man  alive,'  said  I,  'just  you 
make  one  side  of  your  horse  canter,  and  never  fash 
yourself  but  the  other  side  will  follow  fast  enough,'  I 
told  him." 

"  I  saw  you  at  the  Holy  Sepulchre  to-day,"  said  the 
young  curate  opposite,  leaning  forward  rather  suddenly, 
and  speaking  across  the  table  with  an  elaborate  air  of 
not  hearing  this  last  anecdote.  "  I  saw  you  at  the  Holy 
Sepulchre  this  afternoon,  with  your  brother." 

Mrs.  Thayer  looked  up  from  her  plate  and  smiled. 

"I — yes,  I  was  there,"  said  Constance,  shortly. 

"  I  think  I  overheard  your  brother  asking  for  the 
exact  —  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  Mr.  Stuart  is  not  my 
brother." 

"  Oh,  ah,  really !  I  beg  your  pardon  I  'm  sure,  but  I 
thought — I  did  not  know  —  and  seeing  you  always 
together  I  imagined  —  " 

"  Have  you  decided  whether  we  start  to-morrow, 
Fanny?"  said  Miss  Varley,  speaking  in  a  very  clear 
and  incisive  way. 

Mrs.  Thayer  smiled  again  and  looked  down.  "I  — 
no  really,  I  don't  know,"  she  answered  very  gently. 
"Perhaps  —  don't  you  think  you  had  better  ask  Mr. 
Stuart  ?  " 

And  then  after  dinner  they  all  go  back  again  to  the 
Thayers'  rooms,  high  up  among  the  gray  and  crowded 
roofs.  A  lamp  is  already  burning  on  the  table  when 
they  enter.  There  is  aheaped-up  fire  in  the  open  grate. 
Fanny  is  always  a  chilly  little  soul  ;  she  crosses  straight 
over  to  the  fireplace  now,  and  nestles  down  beside  it, 
holding  up  her  small,  thin,  white  hands  to  screen  her 
face.  "Your  cigarettes  are  on  the  mantlepiece  behind 
you,  Tom,"  says  Constance,  turning  round  with  a  lighted 
candle  in  each  hand.  An  ample  abundance  of  light  is 
a  requisite  of  happiness  for  Miss  Varley.  "  And  I  —  By 
Jove  !  if  we  start  off  to-morrow  I  must  write  to  the 
governor  to-night,"  says  Jack  with  a  smothered  groan. 

Four  years  ago  Mr.  Stuart,  having  in  some  mysterious 


42  MIRAGE. 

fashion  successfully  fulfilled  the  inscrutable  require 
ments  of  a  university  examination,  delighted  his  family 
and  surprised  himself  by  acquiring  the  undisputed  right 
of  attaching  the  letters  B.A.  as  an  honorable  distinction, 
a  qualifying  and  classifying  appendix  to  his  name. 
And  this,  after  some  thirty  minutes  of  laborious  silence, 
is  the  letter  he  entreats  Miss  Vai  ley  to  read  :  — 

"  DAMASCUS  HOTEL,  JERUSALEM, 

March  25,  187 — . 
"  MY  DEAR  FATHER,  — 

"  Yours  of  the  27th  ult.  came  safely  to  hand,  at  Cairo. 
Thanks  for  your  offer  of  increasing  the  sum.  For.  the 
present  I  have  more  than  enough,  but  will  draw  upon 
you  at  Damascus,  as  you  suggest,  should  I  find  my  ex 
penses  increasing.  We  reached  Jerusalem  safely  last 
Monday  week,  and  have  been  seeing  sights  ever  since. 
I  called  on  old  Mr.  Thurlow  and  gave  him  your  letter; 
but  the  son  is  away  at  present,  and  the  matter  will  have 
to  wait  over  until  his  return.  This  will  explain  to 
you " 

"  Oh,  all  that  is  nothing.  Go  on  ;  that  part  is  only 
business,"  said  Jack. 

" explain  to  you  any  delay  which  may  arise.     Tell 

mother  Jerusalem  is  a  larger  place  than  she  would  ex 
pect  to  find.  And,  by-the-way,  exchange  is  lower  here 
than  at  Beyrout.  It  stands  on  the  summit  of  a  broad 
irregular  mountain  range.  It  has  a  very  dreary  and 
desolate  aspect.  White  rocks  project  on  every  side 
from  the  scanty  soil,  except  where  there  is  a  fountain, 
or  a  dusky  olive  rears  up  its  round  top  and  casts  its 
dark  shadow  on  the  ground.  The  city  is  very  badly 
built,  and  the  pavement  beastly.  How  sad  is  the  con 
trast  between  former  glory  and  present  misery!  Clus 
ters  of  tottering  houses,  in  bad  repair,  and  filthy  lanes 
occupy  the  building  site  of  Solomon's  gilded  halls  and 
Herod's  marble " 


A    CASE   OF  PHOTOGRAPHS.  43 

"  You  don't  think  it  sounds  a  little,  just  a  little,  as 
though  you  had  been  reading  '  Murray,'  Mr.  Stuart  ?  " 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  the  governor  objects  to  'Murray,'" 
says  Jack,  with  perfect  seriousness. 

" and  Herod's  marble  courts.     Yesterday  we  went 

to  see  the  wailing  of  the  Jews.     It  was  very  amusing. 
We  also  visited  the  Mosque  of  Omar." 

"  The  Mosque  of  Omar.  There !  That  is  what 
stopped  me.  I  thought  you  might  give  me  an  idea  or 
two  about  it.  Just  enough  to  fill  up  this  half-page,  you 
know,"  says  Jack. 

Now,  among  all  the  wonderful  and  suggestive  sights 
in  this  most  wonderful  and  suggestive  of  cities,  surely 
that  very  Mosque  of  Calif  Omar  is  the  crown.  Those 
outer  walls,  covered  with  Persian  tiles,  cream-white  and 
blue  ;  that  thick  and  bursting  tracery  of  bud  and  leaf 
and  blossom,  which  binds  the  pale-gray  dome ;  the 
broad  flagged  walks ;  the  wide,  green,  flower-sweet  still 
ness  of  the  place,  beneath  the  swaying  cypress-trees  — 
I  question  if  Miss  Varley  had  forgotten  a  single  detail 
of  all  that  proud  and  joyous  pageant.  But  the  magic  of 
beauty  lies  within.  For  every  window  is  sombre,  yet 
luminous  and  glowing  —  a  mass  of  crushed  jewels, 
through  which  the  s'unlight  filters  to  the  floor.  And  all 
about  that  dome  —  resplendent  with  gold  and  green  and 
blue,  deep  as  the  inner  petal  of  an  iris-flower,  clear  as 
the  transparent  depth,  the  pale-green  light  of  a  wave, 
and  coiling,  serpent-wise,  about  the  arch  —  there  runs  a 
tracery  of  mysterious  characters,  a  strange  and  splendid 
writing  on  the  wall.  And  underneath  this  lies  a  barren 
hill-top,  a  naked  mountain  summit  —  the  Holy  Place 
made  sacred  to  another  race  of  men. 

"  About  the  Mosque  of  Omar  ?  No.  I'  m  afraid  I 
cannot  think  of  any  thing  —  suitable,"  Miss  Varley 
answers  slowly. 

There  is  a  folding  case  of  photographs  lying  face 
downwards  on  the  table,  and  as  the  girl  speaks  she 


44  MIRAGE. 

turns  it  over  mechanically,  then  looks  long  and  earn 
estly  at  the  faces  it  contains.  It  is  only  another  version 
of  the  same  family  circle  you  will  find  in  the  first  col 
lection  of  portraits  which  chances  to  come  your  way. 
There  is  nothing  particularly  new  or  striking  in  any  of 
the  personalities  which  it  suggests,  and  yet  Miss  Varley 
looks  attentively  at  them  all  —  at  the  elderly  lady  in 
black,  with  the  firm-set  mouth  —  ("That's  an  awful 
thing  of  mother,  but  fair  people  always  photograph 
badly,  you  know  ")  —  at  the  pretty  girl  with  the  elabor 
ate  coiffure  dating  some  two  years  back  ;  at  the  banker's 
shrewd  and  handsome  features,  so  oddly  reproduced  in 
such  quaint  miniature  in  the  half-grown  boy  by  his  side. 
"  That  is  not  bad  of  little  Jim,"  says  Fanny,  carelessly, 
coming  up  and  looking  over  Miss  Varley's  shoulder  ; 
"Jim  looks  like  you,  I  think." 

"  Oh,  Jim  has  got  the  governor's  nose,  worse  luck  for 
him,"  says  Jack,  complacently,  with  a  half-glance  at  the 
tarnished  mirror  which  decorates  the  wall. 

"  Three  or  four  photos  and  an  empty  place.  I  must 
give  you  one  of  mine,  Jack,  to  fill  up.  Or  is  that  place 
reserved  for  the  future  Mrs.  Stuart  ?  "  asks  Fanny,  look 
ing  up  with  a  smile.  It  is  some  few  years  now  since  the 
general  unaccountability  of  woman's  actions  has  ceased 
to  preoccupy  Major  Thayer.  And  yet  more  than  once 
that  evening  he  catches  himself  silently  wondering  what 
the  deuce  there  was  in  that  remark  to  make  Constance 
blush  ! 


GOING   TO  JERICHO.  45 


CHAPTER   IV. 

GOING   TO   JERICHO. 

"  T3  UT  if  you  really  want  to  know  —  " 
_L)     "  You  know  that  I  really  do." 

"  And  are  perfectly  sincere  about  it  ?  " 

"  Perfectly  so." 

"Well,  in  that  case,  I  should  advise  you  —  to  —  oh,  to 
ask  her  the  question  yourself,"  said  Mrs.  Thayer,  coolly, 
looking  up  in  her  companion's  face  with  a  provoking 
little  laugh. 

It  was  two  hours  or  more  since  they  had  left  Jerusa 
lem.  It  had  been  early  morning  still  as  they  sallied 
forth  from  the  city-gate,  a  long  confused  line  of  gaily 
caparisoned  horses,  and  stolid  baggage-laden  mules ; 
the  sun  shining  here  and  there  on  the  long  matchlocks 
of  the  Arab  escort,  or  on  the  fluttering  curtain  of  Fanny's 
palanquin  —  and  since  then  the  barren  road  had  wound 
steadily,  stonily  down.  The  first  freshness  of  the  day 
died  as  they  crossed  the  rosy  cloud  of  blossoms  about 
Bethany.  Since  then  the  landscape  had  grown  strangely, 
monotonously  arid  —  a  desolate  mountain-side  —  gray 
stones,  gray  skies,  and  fields  whose  scanty  covering 
hardly  veiled  the  rock,  with  here  and  there  a  patch  of 
burning  red,  where  the  crimson  flame  of  the  anemones 
cast  a  glory  about  this  pale  and  sterile  land.  It  was 
two  hours  or  more  since  they  had  left  Jerusalem.  It 
was  two  hours  or  more  since  Mr.  Stuart  had  ridden  on 
by  the  side  of  Fanny's  litter.  And  still  he  spoke  of 
Constance. 

"  I  don't  pretend  to  know  more  about  women  than 
any  other  man,  "  —  Mrs.  Thayer  smiled  —  "  but  a  fellow 
can't  knock  about  the  world  as  long  as  I  have  without 


46  MIRAGE. 

finding  out  a  thing  or  two  for  himself;  and  I  can  assure 
you,  Constance  is  by  no  means  like  any  other  girl,"  the 
young  man  went  on  with  simple  earnestness,  quite  un 
mindful  of  the  look  of  suppressed  amusement  shining 
in  his  listener's  clear  brown  eyes.  "  I  don't  think  I 
ever  saw  any  one  like  her  before  ;  so  proud,  so  inde 
pendent,  so  wilful,  and  then  so  gentle  with  it  all.  And 
she  is  so  full  of  fun,  and  so  clever,  and  bright ;  and 
then,  all  at  once  —  while  you  are  talking  to  her,  perhaps 
—  there  will  come  a  look  into  her  face  as  though  she 
had  forgotten  all  about  you,  as  though  she  did  not  even 
hear  your  voice,  or  as  if  she  were  listening  to  some  other 
voices  calling  her  from  far  off;  and  that  will  be,  per 
haps,  just  when  you  are  trying  to  be  most  pleasant :  and 
then,  just  as  you  have  decided  she  has  the  saddest  face 
you  ever  saw  in  your  life  —  why  then  she  turns  around 
and  begins  laughing  at  you  for  being  so  grave,  until  — 
until  you  think  —  until,  by  Jove!  you  don't  know  what 
to  think,  you  know." 

"  I  am  afraid  the  front  mule  has  caught  his  foot 
through  one  of  those  loose  straps.  I  think  he  is  going 
a  little  lame.  Would  you  mind  making  sure  of  it, 
Jack  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Thayer  with  perfect  gravity. 

"  And  then  she  is  so  kind,  so  careful  of  the  people 
about  her.  You  do  not  know  the  trouble  she  takes, 
Fanny ;  but  I  know  it,  for  I  have  seen  it.  But  if  you 
should  speak  to  her  about  it — that  is  quite  another 
thing.  It  is  an  accident,  or  you  have  been  mistaken, 
or  perhaps  she  will  only  laugh  at  you  for  noticing  it  at 
all.  Now  there  was  yesterday,  for  instance  —  " 

"I  wonder  if  it  would  be  quite  impossible  to  make 
them  step  more  together,  Jack  ?  If  you  would  only 
speak  to  Said  —  I  am  sure —  Thanks!  that  is  better 
so.  And  now,  you  may  go  on  with  your  anecdotes  now, 
if  you  like,"  said  Mrs.  Thayer,  in  a  sleepy  voice. 

But  Mr.  Stuart  was  silent.  "Don't  be  absurd  now, 
Jack,"  said  Fanny  carelessly,  a  moment  later. 

The  road  had  taken  a  sudden  turn  to  the  left ;  one 
after  the  other  they  could  see  the  scattered  horsemen 


GOING   TO  JERICHO.  47 

gaining  the  top  of  the  opposite  ravine.  "  Don't  be 
absurd  now,  Jack.  This  weather  is  really  too  hot  to 
make  it  worth  one's  while  to  get  offended.  And  then 

|£ 

you  must  remember  this  is  not  exactly  the  first  time  I 
hear  you  indulging  in  a  little  harmless  sentiment.  There 
was  that  Schuyler  girl,  for  instance  —  was  it  last  winter, 
now,  or  was  it  only  this  spring  —  I  heard  you  rave 
about  —  " 

"  Oh,  bother  that  Schuyler  girl !  "  said  Mr.  Stuart, 
hotly. 

"  Ah,  well,  I  never  could  see  much  in  her  myself,  you 
know.  But  then  I  don't  believe  in  discussing  other 
people's  tastes.  It  is  generally  safer  not  to  discuss 
what  you  mean  to  oppose,"  Mrs.  Thayer  rejoined  calmly. 
"  But  as  for  this  last  fancy  of  yours,  I  '11  tell  you  what 
it  is,"  cried  Famny,  in  a  sudden,  artless  burst  of  con 
fidence,  "I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  Jack  —  I'm  going  to 
give  you  a  piece  of  excellent  advice  —  don't  try  and 
get  up  a  flirtation  with  Constance.  For,  in  the  first 
place,  you  could  not  do  it,  you  know ;  and,  in  the  next 
place,  I  should  not  allow  it;  and  in  the  next —  Look 
here,  Jack.  I  am  going  to  be  perfectly  frank  with  you. 
I  am  not  going  to  have  Constance  vexed  or  troubled,  or 
her  pleasure  spoiled  by  any  such  nonsense  as  that.  And 
then,  on  your  own  account,  my  dear  boy  —  " 

"  You  are  very  good.  But  it  does  not  strike  you  — 
stand  still  there,  will  you  !  —  it  does  not  strike  you  that 
all  this  anxiety  may  be  just  a  trine  premature  ?  I  don't 
presume  to  say  any  thing  about  Miss  Varley,  of  course  ; 
but  as  for  myself,  I  never  found  any  very  great  difficulty 
in  looking  after  my  own  affairs  hitherto,  and  —  and  — • 
that  is  a  pretty  bit  of  view  over  there,  Fanny,  do  you 
see  ? " 

"Very  pretty." 

"  Do  you  happen  to  know,  have  you  the  slightest  idea, 
where  Hassan  intends  to  give  us  lunch  to-day  ? " 

"  Not  the  slightest." 

"I  —  I  —  oh,  confound  it  all  !  I  should  like  to  know 
what  I  have  done  that  you  should  treat  me  so,"  the  young 


48  MIRAGE. 

man  burst  out  with  sudden  passion  ;  "you  who  always 
called  yourself  my  friend  !  If  I  am  in  a  scrape  I  would 
like  to  know  who  brought  me  here.  And  I  did  not  — 
no,  I  did  not  —  think  you  would  throw  me  over  in  this 
way  just  when  I  needed  your  help  the  most,"  he  said, 
with  a  curious  break  in  his  voice,  a  curious  look  of 
trouble  clouding  his  handsome  sunburned  face. 

Have  you  ever  tried  to  realize  for  yourself  the  feelings 
of  a  small  but  active  spider,  towards  yonder  large  and 
fatuous  bluebottle  drawing  nearer  and  nearer  in  ever- 
lessening  circles  to  the  puzzling,  shining  web  —  the  fine 
contempt,  the  delightful  thrill  of  anticipated  triumph, 
the  unhesitating  recognition  of  the  beneficent  intentions 
of  Nature,  of  the  great  moral  law  so  unmistakably  ex 
pressed  in  the  relative  positions  of  spider  and  fly?  I 
believe  Mrs.  Thayer  understood  it  all  at  that  moment. 
It  is  true  that  we  have  every  reason  to  suppose  that  the 
spiders  are  less  preoccupied  with  the  bluebottle's  sensa 
tions  than  with  their  own. 

Fanny  was  keenly  conscious  of  rendering  the  most 
praiseworthy,  the  most  vital,  assistance  possible  to  the 
furtherance  of  the  ultimate  ends  of  Providence ;  her 
mind  was  filled  with  a  quiet  pleasure,  her  face  with  the 
friendliest,  kindliest  light.  It  was  with  quite  a  new  sense 
of  gratified  power,  with  quite  a  new  confidence  in  her 
own  perspicacity,  that  she  said  suddenly, — 

"  Did  you  ever  meet  Mr.  Stuyvesant,  of  Newport  ? 
You  cannot  expect  me  to  quarrel  with  you,  Jack.  That 's 
a  thing  I  won't  even  do  for  Tom.  Of  course  I  can't  help 
it,  if  you  choose  to  resent  my  sympathy  and  call  it  pat 
ronage.  As  I  said  before,  there  is  no  accounting  for 
the  fluctuations  of  a  man's  taste.  But,  did  you  ever 
happen  to  meet  Mr.  Stuyvesant  ? " 

"  Morris  Stuyvesant,  you  mean  ?  Little  man,  with 
curly  hair,  who  keeps  a  yacht  and  drives  four-in-hand 
in  the  park  ?  Yes,  I  know  him.  He  banks  with  us. 
Why  ? " 

"I  never  saw  him.  What  is  he  like?"  said  Fanny, 
eagerly. 


GOING   TO  JERICHO.  49 

"Very  much  like  anybody  else,  I  suppose,  except 
that  he  has  more  money.  I  don't  know  much  about 
him.  He  belongs  to  quite  another  set  from  mine," 
the  young  man  said  impatiently.  "  But  I  wonder  you 
haven't  seen  him!  He  is  rather  dull,  I  think  —  a  typi 
cal  heavy  swell  —  and  very  fast,  and  enormously  wealthy. 
And  there  isn't  a  woman  in  New  York  to-day  who  has 
not,  at  some  time,  tried  to  get  him  to  marry  some  one  — 
herself  or  somebody  else.  It 's  the  one  creditable  thing 
I  've  ever  heard  of  him,  by  Jove  !  to  think  that  they  have 
not  succeeded  yet." 

"  Constance  would  not  marry  him,"  said  Mrs.  Thayer. 

"Constance  —  well,  I  don't  know,"  said  Mr.  Stuart, 
bluntly,  "  women  are  —  women,  all  the  world  over,  I 
suppose."  It  was  curious  to  note  how  the  likeness 
to  his  father  came  out  and  deepened  as  he  spoke.  It 
was  like  a  prophecy  —  a  palpable  foreshadowing  of 
all  the  shrewd,  ordinary,  undeniable  convictions  with 
which  the  years  were  to  limit  and  bind  about  his  life. 
"  Women  are  —  women,  I  suppose  ;  and  Stuy vesant  is 
awfully  rich." 

"So  Mrs.  Van  Ness  told  me;  and  the  story  is  no 
secret  in  any  way.  Everybody  knew  it  down  at  Nahant, 
last  summer.  It  was  while  I  was  ill,  you  know,  and 
Constance  was  visiting  Aunt  Van.  Sometimes  I  have 
thought  if  I  had  been  there  —  but  no  !  I  daresay  it 
would  have  been  of  absolutely  no  avail,"  she  added, 
with  a  perfectly  unaffected  sigh.  "  But  Aunt  Van  was 
something  perfectly  awful.  You  don't  know  Mrs.  Van 
Ness,  Jack  ?,  Ah,  well,  it  would  be  difficult  for  you  to 
understand  it  then." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say — stand  still,  you  brute,  when  I 
tell  you  to  !  —  you  don't  mean  to  say,  Fanny,  that  Morris 
Stuy  vesant  actually  had  the  effrontery,  the  —  the  cheek 
to  ask  Constance  —  to  ask  Miss  Varley  to  marry  him  !" 

"  It  was  a  compliment,  I  know,"  said  Mrs.  Thayer, 
gravely.  "  It  was  quite  the  match  of  the  season.  And 
Aunt  Van  was  so  unhappy  about  it  all !  When  Aunt 
Van  is  unhappy  she  has  a  way  of  saying  '  my  dear,' 

4 


50  MIRAGE. 

which  is  simply  paralyzing.  You  feel  that  your  life  is 
merely  a  wicked  mistake.  And  then  she  will  sit  a  whole 
evening  without  speaking,  looking  at  you  and  thinking 
about  you  until  you  wish  you  were  dead.  And  every 
now  and  then  there  comes  one  small  tear  into  the  corner 
of  her  pale,  porcelain  eyes.  Constance  says  it  is  like 
drawing  water  from  a  rock :  you  feel  as  though  you  had 
interfered  with  the  economy  of  Nature." 

"And  he  —  he  actually  asked  Constance  to  marry 
him !  "  said  Jack,  between  his  teeth. 

"  Oh,  dear,  yes ;  such  a  scene.  'Why  won't  you  marry 
him,  Constance  ? '  '  Because  I  don  't  care  to,  auntie 
dear.'  '  And  why  don't  you  care  to  then,  when  it  is -your 
duty,  your  manifest  duty,  to  be  down  on  your  knees 
thanking  Providence  and  your  old  aunt  for  what  they 
have  done  for  you  ? '  And  so  on.  I  'm  not  sure  they 
did  not  call  in  the  clergyman.  I  know  there  was  an 
appeal  to  the  authorities  at  home.  I  never  quite  under 
stood  that  part  of  it  myself,"  added  Fanny,  thoughtfully. 
"  Captain  Varley  is  always  uneasy  about  money.  I 
should  have  thought  he  would  have  brought  his  influence 
to  bear,  and  I  am  not  generally  mistaken  in  such  mat 
ters."  But,  indeed,  in  this  case  Mrs.  Thayer  was  only 
partly  right,  Captain  Varley  being  one  of  the  many 
people  in  whom  that  complaint  of  poverty  is  like  the 
muscular  contraction  of  a  snake  —  a  mere  mechanical 
indication  of  past  anguish,  an  appearance  which  endures 
long  after  its  cause  has  passed  away.  But  Mrs.  Thayer 
was  partly  right,  as  usual.  For  it  is  a  subject  of  no  small 
wonderment  to  the  present  writer  to  reflect  upon  the 
unbewildered  accuracy  with  which  a  limited  mind  can 
detect  and  estimate  the  paltriest  motives  which  influence 
its  noblest  fellow-men.  One  wonders  at  times  if  there 
could  be  any  impulse  so  unworthy  as  to  escape  the  in 
stant  recognition  of  one's  friends. 

"  I  never  quite  understood  that  part  of  it  myself," 
said  little  Fanny,  thoughtfully.  "  But  it  was  a  splendid 
offer  —  a  splendid  opportunity  —  wasted.  Has  Con 
stance  ever  regretted  it?  I  do  not  know.  She  is  —  the 


GOING   TO  JERICHO.  51 

Varleys  are  all  curious,  in  a  way  —  quixotic,  romantic  ; 
I  hardly  know  how  to  call  it,  but  odd,  decidedly.  And 
Constance  is  very  like  her  father  in  that.  You  should 
see  the  woman  Captain  Varley  has  married,  Jack  !  And 
I  think  she  was  quite  capable  of  caring  for  him,  and  yet 
refusing  him  for  some  inscrutable  reason  of  her  own. 
Perhaps  she  was  too  proud.  Perhaps  —  I  have  known 
hundreds  of  girls  in  my  time,  hundreds  of  them,  but  I 
never  knew  even  one  who  was  not  a  perfect  little  fool 
about  matters  of  that  kind,"  said  Mrs.  Thayer,  with  an 
air  of  profound  conviction. 

They  rode  on  for  several  moments  in  silence.  It  was 
now  nearly  eleven  o'clock.  Th,e  heat  had  grown  in 
tense.  For  the  last  hour  the  road  had  been  steadily 
growing  more  wild  and  more  deserted,  winding  higher 
and  higher  among  the  fastnesses  of  the  bleak  and  crumb 
ling  rock.  The  sky  was  colorless  and  blank  and  very 
low ;  a  sky  of  brass ;  one  wide,  white,  blinding  glare, 
beating  pitilessly  down  upon  this  arid  wilderness  of  stone. 
The  heavy  silence  of  the  noon  lay  all  around.  One  by 
one  the  white-cloaked  horsemen  of  the  escort  had  ridden 
silently  forward  and  disappeared  among  the  rocks,  and 
now  there  was  no  living  thing  in  sight  but  the  covered 
and  curtained  litter  crawling  slowly  along  the  narrow 
mountain-trail.  And  the  mules  rattled  their  betasselled 
harness ;  Mr.  Stuart's  horse  picked  his  way  cautiously 
among  the  rolling  stones,  and  chafed  and  champed  im 
patiently  against  his  bit.  From  behind  the  palanquin 
there  rose  a  slow  and  wailing  chant,  the  melancholy, 
monotonous  song  of  the  Arab  muleteer ;  it  seemed  the 
very  voice  and  expression  of  all  this  dead  and  silent  and 
shadowless  land. 

The  mules  rattled  their  betasselled  harness,  the  pal 
anquin  shifted  round  and  lurched  heavily  to  one  side. 
"  Oh,  have  we  got  there  at  last?  but  I  think  I  have  been 
asleep,"  said  Fanny,  waking  up  with  a  start. 

And  this  was  the  moment  Mr.  Stuart  chose  to  make 
the  following  surprising  proposition  :  — 

"  I  have  been  thinking,"  the  young  man  said  gloomily 


52  MIRAGE. 

—  and  indeed  it  was  undeniable  that  he  had  been  most 
unusually  preoccupied  for  several  moments  past  —  "I 
have  been  thinking  that  I  will  not  go  any  farther  with 
you  than  Jerusalem." 

Mrs.  Thayer  was  silent. 

"It  is  not  as  though  you  could  not  all  get  on  per 
fectly  well  without  me,  for  I  am  merely  an  addition  — 
a  postscript,  as  it  were  —  to  the  original  party,  you 
know." 

And  still  Mrs.  Thayer  did  not  speak. 

"  Now  there  were  those  fellows  I  was  talking  to  last 
week,"  the  young  man  went  on,  in  a  rather  less  decided 
way,  "  they  asked  me  to  join  them  in  the  Lebanon. 
And  Hassan  tells  me  there  is  still  a  little  shooting  left. 
And  —  and  if  I  took  the  next  steamer  to  Beyrout  —  " 

And  then  Mrs.  Thayer  looked  up  at  him  with  a  smile. 
"  I  don't  think  I  should  go  if  I  were  you,  Jack,"  she 
said,  in  her  clearest  voice.  She  leaned  a  little  farther 
out  of  her  litter,  and  laid  her  hand  affectionately  upon 
his  arm.  "  You  absurd  boy  !  But  if  you  care  so  much 
to  know  what  Constance  thought  of  him,  why  don't  you 
ask  her  the  question  yourself  ? "  she  said,  with  great 
good-humor. 

And  even  as  she  spoke  the  road  turned  sharply  to 
the  left ;  a  group  of  picketed  horses  stood  in  the  midst 
of  the  small  platform  before  them  ;  farther  on  some  men 
were  boiling  their  coffee  and  smoking  about  a  fire ;  they 
had  reached  the  midday  encampment,  and  already  Con 
stance  was  coming  lightly  forward  to  welcome  them  to 
its  narrow  strip  of  shade.  Mr.  Stuart  looked  at  her  with 
a  curious  mingling  of  question  and  surprise.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  he  had  never  really  seen  her  before.  He 
thought  of  Fanny's  story ;  but  no !  how  was  it  possible 
to  associate  any  idea  of  disappointment  or  regret  with 
the  glance  of  those  clear  blue  eyes,  with  that  frank  and 
happy  smile  ? 

There  was  only  a  narrow  strip  of  shade  under  the 
crumbling  walls  of  the  desertejd  khan,  and  as  Constance 
took  her  place  at  lunch  all  the  light  from  the  wide  open 


GOING   TO  JERICHO.  53 

sky  seemed  reflected  in  her  face,  and  in  the  loose  and 
shining  masses  of  her  hair. 

"  And  without  even  a  hat,  and  with  your  complexion  ! 
Oh,  Constance,  how  burned  you  will  be  !  "  said  Fanny,  in 
lazy  remonstrance. 

Miss  Varley  laughed.  "  Don't  allude  to  bygones, 
dear.  I  was  fair  once,  I  know  ;  but  that  was  before  we 
went  to  Egypt.  For  now  —  look,  Mr.  Stuart" — she 
pushed  back  the  sleeve  of  her  riding-habit  above  her 
wrist  —  "look  here." 

"Do  you  believe  that  can  be  a  bit  of  myself?  or  is  it 
a  case  of  mistaken  identity?"  she  said,  laughing,  and 
holding  out  her  hand. 

"  Yes,  I  see,"  said  Jack,  absently,  still  keeping  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  her  face.  And  then,  after  a  moment, 
"I  —  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  am  afraid  I  did  not  quite 
understand  what  you  were  saying  ?  "  And,  indeed,  the 
young  fellow  was  in  a  singular  state  of  mental  perturba 
tion,  and  excitement,  and  doubt.  "  The  boy  is  looking 
quite  upset.  What  have  you  been  doing  to  him,  Fanny  ?  " 
Major  Thayer  inquired,  pausing  in  the  act  of  lighting 
his  cigar,  and  looking  curiously  at  his  cousin  striding 
away.  But  Mrs.  Thayer  only  laughed.  Syria  was 
hotter,  decidedly  hotter,  than  Egypt,  she  observed,  with 
cheerful  irrelevance. 

The  men  had  laid  aside  their  empty  nargilehs,  the 
mules  were  once  more  harnessed  to  the  litter,  rugs  were 
being  rolled,  and  saddle-girths  tightened  for  the  descent, 
before  Mr.  Stuart  joined  the  others  once  more.  As  he 
came  sauntering  up,  the  Major  was  pointing  out  the 
road  to  his  wife  —  that  road  by  which  a  certain  man 
went  down  from  Jerusalem  to  Jericho  and  fell  among 
thieves. 

"  I  believe  this  may  have  been  the  very  inn  ;  or,  at 
least,  the  site  is  the  same,"  said  Fanny,  with  enthusiasm. 
"  Look  at  its  position,  crowning  the  ridge,  on  the  very 
pinnacle  of  the  pass,  overlooking  all  the  plain.  Tom,  I 
believe  this  is  the  place.  I  know  it  is.  If  dear  old  Dr. 
Adams  were  only  here  !  And  —  Oh,  here  's  Jack  !" 


54  MIRAGE. 

But  Jack  had  passed  on.  "  What  are  you  lookfhg'at, 
Miss  Varley  ? "  he  asked,  abruptly,  going  up  and  lean 
ing  his  arms  on  the  broken  parapet  beside  her,  and 
staring  down  into  the  depths  of  the  ravine. 

The  girl  smiled  and  pointed  with  her  whip.  "  You 
see  those  flowers  there  ?  No,  farther  down  ;  on  that 
little  ledge  where  the  wall  is  broken  ?  I  was  consider 
ing  the  lilies  of  the  field.  They  are  the  first  ones  we 
have  seen.  And  quite  out  of  reach." 

"  Ah,  yes.  I  see.  Yes,  they  are  out  of  reach,"  said 
Stuart. 

But  half  an  hour  afterward  —  as  the  road  grew  more 
abrupt,  Miss  Varley  heard  a  clattering  of  horse's  hoofs 
pressing  nearer  and  nearer,  and  presently  some  one  rode 
up  and  held  out  a  handful  of  half-withered  flowers. 
"There  —  there  are  your  lilies,"  said  Jack. 

Constance  started  and  looked  round,  and  then  the 
color  rushed  to  her  cheeks.  "  Oh,  Mr.  Stuart !  But 
you  should  not  have  done  it  —  indeed,  you  should  not." 

"  Oh,  that  was  not  any  thing  at  all,"  the  young  man 
said,  carelessly.  "  I'm  not  a  bad  hand  at  climbing. 
And  I  knew  you  wanted  them.  And  I  thought  — 
I  thought  perhaps  you  might  give  me  one  of  them  — 
to  keep,"  he  added,  with  an  embarrassed  laugh,  and 
leaned  forward  and  stroked  his  horse  carefully  between 
the  ears. 

She  looked  at  him  a  moment  in  silence  —  a  grave, 
inquiring  look,  which  sent  a  curious  thrill  of  excitement 
through  him  —  and  then  an  expression  of  great  friend 
liness  and  liking  came  into  her  face  ;  she  gave  him  the 
flower  without  a  word.  She  gave  him  the  flower,  and 
for  one  instant  he  touched  her  gauntleted  hand,  and  he 
saw  her  blue  eyes  looking  into  his. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  beneath  his  breath.  Half- 
unconsciously  he  lifted  his  hat,  with  a  curious  feeling 
of  doing  her  homage,  as  he  reined  in  his  horse  to  let 
her  pass  him  by. 

Now  Stuart  was  nothing  more  than  an  honest,  good- 
natured,  rather  self-indulgent,  rather  talkative  young 


GOING   TO  JERICHO.  55 

fellow,  you  might  object  —  a  perfectly  commonplace 
character,  incapable,  in  all  probability,  of  any  great 
passion  ;  unvisited  as  yet  by  any  deep  or  vital  experi 
ence  of  life  ;  a  character,  too,  which  the  budding  germs 
of  a  latent  Philistinism  —  the  barren  blight  of  common 
sense  —  would  alone  have  debarred  from  any  claim  to 
consideration  as  a  hero  of  romance.  And  yet,  was  there 
ever  a  day  so  prosaic  or  so  dull  that  some  subtle  stir 
ring  of  color  in  the  morning  sky,  some  rosy  revelation 
of  the  dawn,  has  not  linked  it  to  all  the  infinite  possibil 
ities  of  beauty  ?  or  ever  a  life  too  indifferent  to  all  joy 
not  to  feel  and  stir  in  the  blossom-time  of  its  experience 
—  the  brief,  warm,  heyday  of  its  youth  ? 

It  was  four  o'clock  by  the  time  they  reached  the  foot 
of  the  hills,  and  turned  their  horses  across  the  long  and 
undulating  plain.  A  fringe  of  trees,  a  tall  and  waving 
fringe  of  reeds,  lay  straight  across  their  track,  marking 
the  boundaries  of  a  little  stream  ;  and  a  short,  quick 
canter  soon  brought  them  to  its  ford,  where  the  tangled 
branches  cast  their  deepest  shadow  over  the  rushing, 
bubbling  brook.  No  words  could  describe  the  deep 
relief  of  that  cool  silence  —  made  only  the  deeper  by 
the  low,  cool  murmur  of  the  water's  flow.  The  riders 
stopped,  or  rather  the  horses  stopped  halfway  across, 
drinking  greedily,  and  wading  farther  and  farther  up 
the  stream  till  the  water  gurgled  above  their  very  knees. 
It  was  all  so  still,  the  little  birds  in  the  bushes  began  to 
sing  once  more,  fluttering  from  tree  to  tree  across  the 
brook  until  the  horses  would  pause  for  a  moment  to 
look  around  them  before  plunging  their  heads  in  again 
with  deep  and  eager  delight.  And  then,  after  some  ten 
minutes'  halt,  the  little  caravan  again  pressed  forward, 
up  the  steep  side  of  a  hill  and  along  a  wide  plateau, 
where  the  narrow  bridle-path  wound  in  and  out  between 
the  scattered  clumps  of  mimosa  trees,  until  one  had  to 
bend  to  the  saddle-bow  to  escape  the  clutch  of  their 
thorny  branches. 

And  then  there  came  a  company  of  mounted  Beda- 
•ween ;  brown-faced,  brown-robed,  and  sullen-eyed  ma- 


56  MIRAGE. 

rauders  ;  and  after  them  followed  a  troop  of  big  brown 
cows,  who  scrambled  along  like  goats,  stopping  at  every 
step  to  snatch  another  mouthful  of  the  short,  close  grass, 
until  the  advancing  cavalcade  alarmed  and  separated 
the  herd,  and  they  swept  by  the  horses  in  wild  and 
jostling  disorder. 

"  Exit  the  noble  savage.  Do  you  know  those  are  the 
first  living  creatures  we  have  met  in  all  this  day  ?  " 

"  I  should  be  sorry  to  hurt  your  feelings,  Constance  ; 
I  really  should.  Consequently  I  will  not  remark  that 
your  favorite  children  of  the  desert  look  not  unlike  a 
group  of  Digger  Indians,"  said  Major  Thayer,  slowly. 

"Please  God  we  not  lose  any  chickens  to-night," 
added  Hassan  with  a  groan. 

The  handsome  sheikh  bowed  gravely  in  his  saddle. 
"  The  will  of  God  be  done." 

And  now  the  horses  quickened  their  pace,  and  threw 
up  their  heads  and  went  off  in  a  wild  gallop,  at  sight  of 
the  circle  of  canvas  domes.  That  night  the  tents  were 
pitched  by  the  side  of  Elisha's  Well,  —  a  little,  clear, 
splashing  spring  which  starts  from  under  a  high  rock, 
runs  past  a  fringe  of  fern  and  flowers  for  a  few  hundred 
feet,  and  then  disappears  again  underground.  And  soon 
its  tinkling  lift  and  fall  was  the  only  touch  of  coolness 
left.  For  with  sunset  the  heat  grew  more  intense  ;  the 
wind  became  more  sultry ;  wild  gusts  of  dust  and  sand 
came  whirling  whitely  down  across  the  stony  platform 
from  the  hillside  above  it ;  and  now  the  sky  was  of  a 
threatening  sulphurous  tone,  and  lurid  gleams  of  light 
broke  through  the  heavy  clouds,  throwing  a  curious 
reddish  glow  over  all  the  green  tangle  of  branches 
beneath. 

As  Miss  Varley  came  out  of  her  tent  and  looked  about 
her,  the  very  air  seemed  to  have  grown  thick  with  this 
suffused  yellow  light.  Nature  was  in  suspense.  There 
was  a  feeling  of  suppressed  horror  in  the  livid  light, 
in  the  wild  shifting  of  the  clouds,  in  the  low  ominous 
muttering  of  thunder  dying  away  among  the  naked 
hills. 


GOING    TO   JERICHO.  57 

And  as  the  night  grew  darker  this  sense  of  unrest  and 
expectation  deepened. 

"  It  is  like  the  moment  before  a  miracle  —  like  waiting 
for  some  revelation,"  Constance  said.  And  indeed  the 
very  animals  about  the  camp  had  caught  the  infection 
of  terror  and  disquiet  ;  the  horses  refused  to  eat,  and 
stood  facing  the  wind  with  wildly-streaming  manes  ;  and 
even  Lione  thrust  his  golden  head  between  Miss  Varley's 
hands,  and  moaned  and  struggled  in  his  sleep. 

It  was  almost  a  relief  after  dinner  when  this  tension 
of  silence  was  broken  by  a  succession  of  savage  cries  — 
a  wild,  high-pitched,  rattling  call  like  the  voice  of  some 
animal  grown  fierce  and  unfamiliar  with  pain.  And 
"There  is  some  Bedawy,  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  said 
Hassan,  pushing  back  the  door  of  the  tent.  "  And  the 
chief  he  come  down  to  do  you  honor  and  show  you  one 
dance." 

And  presently  the  chairs  and  rugs  had  all  been  car 
ried  outside.  A  long  line  of  men  were  drawn  up  in 
front  of  the  dining-tent ;  at  one  end  a  shadowy  group  of 
veiled  women  and  children  stood  back  awaiting  their 
turn  ;  and  before  them  the  old  sheikh  of  the  tribe,  with 
a  drawn  sword  in  his  hand.  As  the  travellers  came  out 
he  began  his  dance,  accompanied  by  the  howls  and  cries 
of  all  the  spectators,  and  marked  by  a  certain  rude 
rhythm  kept  by  the  clapping  of  hands.  It  was  a  singu 
lar  and  exciting  performance  ;  for  as  the  words  of  the 
chant  were  changed  the  chief  would  vary  his  action, 
now  charging  the  whole  line  with  a  flashing  sweep  of 
his  sword  ;  now  crouching  to  the  ground  as  if  in  ambush, 
or  again  throwing  himself  at  their  feet  and  writhing  as 
if  wounded  unto  death.  And  after  every  change  he 
would  come  rushing  up  to  Major  Thayer,  circle  his  sword 
about  his  head,  and  again  that  wild  and  rattling  chorus 
would  start  the  sleeping  echoes  of  the  hill.  The  two 
long  white  cotton  lanterns  shook"  in  the  wind,  casting 
long  curious  shadows,  wild  unexpected  gleams  of  light, 
upon  those  savage  shapes.  Fanny  had  fallen  asleep  in 
her  chair:  her  husband  had  long  since  strolled  away. 


58  MIRAGE. 

As  Stuart  lay  stretched  out  upon  the  Persian  carpetrat 
Miss  Varley's  feet  and  looking  up  into  her  face  they  two 
seemed,  to  the  young  man's  excited  fancy,  the  only  pos 
sessors  of  a  new  and  fantastic  world  ;  a  world  peopled 
by  shadowy,  swaying  forms,  full  of  strange  sounds,  of 
warm  and  sudden  wind  —  full,  too,  of  a  pale  and  misty 
moonlight,  of  vague  and  enervated  and  measureless  de 
light.  And  Constance  ? 

He  was  lying,  I  have  said,  at  her  feet ;  but  not  all  the 
width  of  the  universe,  had  he  but  known  it,  could  have 
held  those  two  farther  apart. 

For  Miss  Varley,  too,  was  thinking.  And  as,  later  on, 
she  lay  upon  her  bed,  tossing  restlessly  from  side  to  side, 
it  seemed  those  thoughts  had  well-nigh  banished  sleep. 
The  wind  had  loosened  the  fastenings  of  her  tent-door. 
Presently  she  rose  to. tighten  the  cords,  and,  as  she  did 
so,  some  sudden  impulse  made  her  pause  and  push  aside 
the  curtain  and  look  out.  The  moon  had  risen  high 
above  the  clouds ;  a  great,  an  infinite  silvery  stillness 
lay  all  about  the  sleeping  camp.  From  their  stony  plat 
form  she  looked  down  upon  a  waving  sea  of  tree-tops  — 
a  love-gift  once  to  Cleopatra  from  Mark  Antony,  and 
now  a  dark  and  rustling  solitude  where  only  the  night 
wind  seemed  awake.  But  as  the  girl  stood  there  at  the 
door  of  her  tent,  the  wind  lifting  her  loosened  hair  from 
off  her  forehead,  blowing  softly  and  coolly  about  her 
small  bare  feet  —  of  a  sudden,  there  arose  a  sweet  de 
licious  gurgle  of  sound  from  among  the  tangled  bushes. 
It  was  the  voice  of  a  nightingale,  singing  to  the  silence 
and  to  the  stars.  And,  as  she  listened,  a  change  swept 
over  the  grave  proud  face,  her  lips  parted,  her  eyes 
grew  soft  and  filled  with  tears.  She  lifted  her  face  im 
ploringly,  with  a  sudden  gesture  of  passionate  emotion. 

"  Oh,  my  love,"  she  said,  "  my  love  !  when  —  when  are 
you  coming  back  to  me  ?  " 


LOOKING  AT  THE  STARS.  59 


CHAPTER  V. 

SHOWING   WHY   MISS    VARLEY    LOOKED   AT   THE   STARS. 

IT  was  when  Constance  Varley  first  began  to  have  her 
frocks  lengthened,  her  lessons  shortened,  and  her 
opinion  more  or  less  consulted  in  regard  to  both  —  she 
was,  in  a  word,  about  fifteen  years  old  —  when  an  event 
took  place  which  merits  to  be  briefly  mentioned. 

It  was  at  the  close  of  morning  school,  and  a  certain 
riotous  stillness  was  beginning  to  make  itself  apparent 
among  the  young  ladies  of  the  Misses  De  Walker's  French 
and  Family  Finishing  Establishment.  A  subdued  sound 
of  opening  desks,  the  furtive  rustling  of  contraband 
paper  parcels,  a  mysterious  and  increasing  succession 
of  smothered  laughs,  were  all  witnesses  to  the  absence 
of  any  high  authority.  Matters  were  evidently  approach 
ing  a  crisis  —  delayed  for  a  moment  as  all  the  heads  were 
lifted,  and  all  eyes  turned  to  watch  the  servant  bringing 
a  message  to  the  door. 

"  The  young  ladies  will  please  give  a  little  attention. 
Silence  there  on  the  left !  Young  ladies,  I  must  really 
beg  you  to  be  a  little  more  respectful,"  said  Miss  Smith, 
looking  up,  flushed  and  wearied,  from  a  chaotic  pile  of 
accounts.  "  Miss  Morgan  and  Constance  Varley  are 
wanted  in  the  parlor."  And  then,  as  Constance  passes 
her,  "  I  think  it  is  your  father,  my  dear,"  the  governess 
adds  in  kindly  preparation.  For  it  is  a  well-known  fact 
that  Constance  adores  her  father.  She  has  seen  him 
perhaps  a  dozen  times  in  all  her  life  —  brief  visits 
snatched  in  the  interval  between  each  cruise  —  and  has 
already  lavished  an  amount  of  ardent  hero-worship,  of 
unquestioning  admiration,  upon  her  idealized  recollection 
of  him,  which  cannot  but  give  a  coloring  and  bent  to  all 
her  after  years. 


60  MIRAGE. 

"  And  you  are  never  going  away  again,  papa  ;  never, 
never  going  away  any  more  ? "  she  says  exultingly  a 
moment  later,  standing  with  both  hands  clasped  about 
her  father's  arm;  "you  are  going  to  give  up  the  ship 
at  last,  and  live  on  that  nice  half-pay,  and  have  a  home 
in  the  country.  Oh,  papa,  a  home  in  the  country  for 
you  and  me  together  !  And  Fanny  shall  live  with  us, 
of  course  —  Fanny  shall  live  with  us  always  ;  but  I  am 
to  be  the  housekeeper,  you  know.  Fanny  shall  be  the 
lady,  but  I  am  going  to  be  your  helper." 

"  And  Aunt  Van  ?  Have  you  forgotten  Aunt  Van  ?  " 
says  Captain  Varley,  smiling  and  smoothing  back  her 
hair. 

"  Oh,  bother  Aunt  Van  !  "  answers  Constance,  gaily. 
"  Papa,  I  wish  you  had  a  better-regulated  mind  !  It  is 
a  deplorable  thing  to  be  so  utterly  devoid  of  seriousness 
in  discussing  vital  subjects.  For  listen  to  me,  please. 
I  want  some  chickens.  You  may  have  all  the  cows 
and  sheep  and  oxen  for  your  very  own,  but  I  must 
have  some  chickens  —  and  a  horse — and  —  and  what 
else  can  people  have  who  are  going  to  live  in  the  real 
country  and  be  as  happy  as  the  day  is  long? " 

And  as  she  asks  the  question  Fate  appears  in  the 
doorway  to  answer  it  —  a  dark-haired,  deep-eyed  Fate, 
who  stops  and  hesitates,  and  stands  with  a  pile  of  loose 
and  fluttering  papers  in  her  hand.  "  I  beg  your  pardon, 
I  did  not  know  there  was  any  one  here." 

"  Oh,  it  is  not  of  the  slightest  consequence.  You 
have  not  disturbed  us  at  all,"  says  Fanny,  coolly. 
"Only  —  would  you  be  so  very  kind  as  to  shut  the 
door  carefully  as  you  go  out  ?  There  is  really  a  terrible 
draught." 

But  Constance  has  already  started  forward,  and  is 
taking  her  destiny  by  the  hand.  "  Come  in,  Miss 
Smith.  Do  come  in,"  she  says  in  her  friendly  young 
voice.  "  It  is  only  papa,  you  know.  And,  papa,  this 
is  Miss  Smith." 

Captain  Varley  has  already  risen,  and  you  see  at  a 
glance  where  Constance  got  that  fine  upright  carriage. 


LOOKING  AT  THE  STARS.  6 1 

"  Miss  Smith  will  honor  us  by  making  use  of  the  room. 
I  am  always  happy  to  see  my  daughter's  friends,"  he 
answers  with  grave  courtesy. 

"  You  forget  that  we  are  only  school-girls  yet.  We 
could  hardly  presume  to  call  ourselves  Miss  Smith's 
friends,"  says  Fanny  in  her  sweetest  voice.  "  And  —  " 

"  Miss  Morgan  is  right.  I  am  only  the  nursery 
governess  here.  I  teach  the  little  ones  their  multipli 
cation-table,  and  keep  the  accounts,  and  hear  the  young 
ladies  practise,  Captain  Varley.  Miss  Morgan  is  quite 
right  —  I  am  not  anybody's  friend,"  adds  Miss  Smith, 
turning  very  pale. 

Poor  Captain  Varley  turns  from  one  to  the  other, 
from  his  ward  to  his  daughter's  governess,  with  a 
puzzled  look  on  his  frank  and  weather-beaten  face. 
And  it  is  curious  to  notice  how  you  see  the  expression 
repeated  on  the  frank  young  countenance  by  his  side. 
For,  as  may  already  have  been  remarked,  Miss  Varley's 
views  of  life  are  rather  more  primitive  than  is  usual 
even  with  young  ladies  who  have  enjoyed  all  the  oppor 
tunities  for  ignorance  offered  by  a  liberal  education. 
"  In  fact,  you  made  a  perfect  little  goose  of  yourself, 
my  dear,"  Miss  Morgan  informs  her  later  on,  in  private. 
"  And  as  for  the  presumption  of  that  creature  in  accept 
ing  your  father's  invitation  —  !  I  won't  go  to  the  theatre 
with  you  at  all.  Yes,  I  will.  I  '11  go,  and  do  what  you 
have  not  the  sense  to  do  yourself  —  " 

"  Poor  thing,  and  why  should  she  not  have  a  little 
pleasure  then  ? "  answers  Constance,  simply.  And,  in 
deed,  why  should  she  not  ? 

Dressed  in  her  best  black  gown,  a  bunch  of  flowers 
in  her  hand,  a  red  camellia  in  her  hair  —  ("  It  is  years, 
years,  since  any  one  has  sent  me  such  flowers  as  these," 
she  says  softly,  looking  up  into  Captain  Varley's  face, 
with  a  fine  expression  of  gratitude  in  those  great  dark 
eyes,  which  not  even  the  Misses  De  Walker's  unpaid 
bills  have  yet  contrived  to  tarnish)  —  dressed  I  say  in 
her  best,  seated  in  the  front  of  an  opera-box,  a  handsome 
man  by  her  side,  and  all  about  her  a  flood  of  light  and 


62  MIRAGE. 

music,  why  should  not  this  poor  woman  forget  for  -an 
evening  all  the  disappointments,  the  regret,  it  might  be 
the  remorse,  of  her  life  ?  For  that  Miss  Smith  was  a 
young  person  with  experiences  was  really  an  undeni 
able  fact. 

"  It  is  a  pretty  stage  seen  from  the  boxes,  is  it  not  ? " 
asked  Fanny,  bending  forward  with  a  sneer. 

Miss  Smith  is  a  young  woman  with  a  history,  and  you 
may  be  sure  her  pupils  at  the  Establishment  are  not 
unacquainted  with  the  fact.  But  is  she,  then,  so  very 
much  worse  than  her  neighbors  ?  If  the  truth  must  be 
told,  it  was  Fanny  herself  who  was  the  chief  narrator, 
the  firmest  believer,  in  these  reports.  Indeed,  I  never 
could  persuade  myself  that  those  particular  anecdotes 
were  any  more  worthy  of  credence  than  any  of  the  other 
thousand  and  one  legends  which  form  the  daily  enter 
tainment  of  our  friends.  For  how,  to  take  only  one 
instance, — how,  I  ask  you,  was  it  probable  that  Miss 
Morgan  should  be  so  thoroughly  versed  in  all  the  details 
about  young  Winslow's  unlucky  passion,  or  the  reasons 
which  led  to  Miss  Smith's  change  of  home  ?  As  for 
her  having  deliberately  planned  to  attract  Captain 
Varley's  attention,  could  it  for  a  moment  be  believed 
that  such  conduct  was  even  possible  under  the  shelter 
ing  wing  of  the  Misses  De  Walker's  maternal  and 
Christian  care  ? 

"Maternal  and  Christian  fiddlestick  !  "  retorts  Fanny 
with  profound  contempt.  "  Miss  De  Walker  is  an  old 
cat,  and  Miss  Philena  is  another.  They  take  their 
teachers  where  they  can  pay  the  least,  and  as  for  that 
creature —  Captain  Varley  is  only  my  guardian,  I 
know.  But  if  he  were  my  father,  Constance  —  " 

"If  he  were  your  father,  Fanny  —  but  we  will  nov 
talk  about  that,  dear.  Only,  the  king  can  do  no  wrong," 
said  Miss  Varley  turning  very  pale. 

And  "  Our  poor  Constance  is  as  infatuated  as  ever, 
and  as  blind  as  even  Miss  Smith  could  desire.  Indeed, 
dear  Mrs.  Van  Ness,  I  fear  it  will  not  be  very  long 


LOOKING  AT  THE  STARS.  63 

before  I  shall  see  myself  forced  to  take  refuge  with  you. 
For  I  fear  the  catastrophe  is  even  nearer  than  we  think," 
Miss  Morgan  wrote  prophetically  to  a  certain  old  lady 
at  Nahant.  It  was  the  one  relaxation  into  strong  dis 
like  which  Fanny  ever  allowed  herself,  and  she  hated 
Miss  Smith  with  all  the  repressed  virulence  of  a  studi 
ously  amiable  character. 

And,  indeed,  it  was  not  long  before  her  prediction 
came  to  pass.  It  was  hardly  a  month,  I  think,  after 
that  unlucky  night  at  the  opera,  before  Miss  Varley  was 
wanted  in  the  schoolroom  parlor  again.  The  interview 
was  very  short  and  very  quiet  until  just  at  the  last.  "  I 
hope,  I  do  hope  you  will  be  happy,  papa,"  the  girl 
cried  out  with  a  sudden  burst  of  passion,  as  her  father 
was  bidding  her  good-by.  She  took  up  his  hand  in 
both  of  hers,  and  laid  her  cheek  against  it  with  a  caress 
ing  motion  that  was  habitual  to  her.  "You — you 
won't  forget  me,  dear  ? "  she  said  very  gently.  The 
Captain  congratulated  himself  with  honest  satisfaction 
upon  the  sensible  fashion  in  which  his  little  girl  was 
seconding  his  plans. 

The  days  went  on  and  on.  Captain  Varley  was  often 
in  town  now,  but  it  was  seldom  he  found  time  to  visit 
his  daughter's  school.  Once  they  met  him  walking 
down  the  street  He  was  dressed  with  scrupulous  care 
in  entirely  new  clothes,  and  was  giving  his  arm  to  Miss 
Smith.  Miss  Morgan  threw  up  her  head  at  the  sight, 
and  would  have  walked  on  without  speaking,  but  Con 
stance  stopped  and  insisted  upon  snaking  her  future 
stepmother's  hand.  It  was  not  for  her  to  question  her 
father's  choice,  the  girl  thought  proudly,  choking  back 
her  tears.  The  months  went  on  and  on,  and  brought 
with  them  the  marriage  ;  went  on  and  on,  and  now  Miss 
Smith's  matrimonial  speculation  had  grown  to  be  an  old 
story,  and  there  were  newer  and  more  interesting  wed 
dings  in  view. 

"  You  must  come  and  stay  with  me  this  year,"  wrote 
young  Mrs.  Thayer  some  six  months  afterwards.  "  I 
want  you,  Constance  —  and  you  will  only  be  in  their 


64  MIRAGE. 

way  at  home."  And  indeed  by  this  time  I  think  the 
poor  girl  was  amply  conscious  of  the  fact.  For  this  ill- 
assorted  marriage  was  proving  itself  a  great  success  to 
the  two  most  intimately  concerned  —  a  success  so  com 
plete  that  not  even  Mrs.  Thayer  could  question  its 
duration. 

As  for  Constance  — -  but  whatever  Constance  felt, 
we  know  how  she  had  accepted  the  situation  from  the 
first.  And  as  the  years  rolled  by,  and  there  came  other 
claimants  to  her  father's  love,  when  baby  fingers  and 
baby  voices  had  made  the  final  conquest  of  his  home,  I 
think  there  even  grew  to  be  a  certain  kindness  between 
Miss  Varley  and  her  father's  second  wife. 

"  There  's  my  good  Constance  !  But  I  always  knew 
you  would  behave  like  a  good,  sensible  girl,  my  dear," 
the  Captain  remarked  to  her  with  genuine  pleasure. 

And  "  Yes,  papa  ;  I  would  do  any  thing  for  you,  you 
know,"  the  girl  answered,  and  caught  his  hand  in  hers 
and  laid  her  cheek  against  it  with  a  silent  caress,  with  a 
curious  new  pang  at  her  heart.  The  old  love  was  there, 
the  old  tenderness  was  there ;  but  the  old  passionate 
admiration,  the  old  ideal,  where  were  they  now? 

Constance  had  been  a  year  or  more  at  home  —  she 
had  grown  into  a  tall,  serious-faced,  sad-eyed  girl  of 
nineteen  —  before  the  long-promised  visit  to  Mrs. 
Thayer  came  to  pass.  As  she  thinks  of  those  days 
now,  they  seem  the  nearest — as,  indeed,  they  are  the 
most  vivid  —  of  her  life.  For  it  was  at  Fanny's  house, 
at  The  Farm,  that  Constance  found  the  second,  the  last, 
the  supreme  passion  of  her  life.  It  was  a  man  most 
unlike  her  father  whom  this  fond  idol-worshipper  had 
now  elected  to  fill  the  empty  temple  of  her  faith ;  but  I 
think  there  was  a  certain  resemblance  in  the  quality  of 
the  deep  and  silent  and  loyal  devotion  she  lavished 
upon  them  both. 

It  is  an  old  story  now,  dating  some  three  years  back. 
Indifference,  custom,  time,  new  faces,  and  new  lands 
have  come  between  her  and  her  love.  As  she  stands 
there  listening  to  the  song  of  that  nightingale,  looking 


LOOKING  AT  THE  STARS.  65 

up  at  those  serene  and  melancholy  stars,  how  weak, 
how  short,  the  time  and  distance  seem  !  It  is  evening 
now  again  in  the  old  house  at  home,  a  mild  spring  even 
ing  of  three  years  before ;  she  is  walking  up  and  down 
the  garden-path  with  the  children,  and  Fanny  has  writ 
ten  her  a  letter :  — 

"  Are  you  not  coming  back  to  me  soon  ?  Do  come 
back,  there  's  a  darling,  for  I  really  cannot  do  without 
you  any  longer ;  and  surely  Mrs.  Varley  is  well  enough 
to  spare  you  now.  Do  come  back  !  We  all  want  you 
—  that  is,  all  but  one.  '  And  when  shall  we  see  you  at 
The  Farm  again  ? '  I  asked  that  one,  only  this  morn 
ing.  '  Probably  never.  Who  ever  heard  of  a  man  going 
to  Paradise  twice,'  he  said,  driving  off.  Pretty,  wasn't 
it  ?  But  then  he  has  a  way  of  saying  those  pretty 
things,  as  you  know.  And,  by-the-way,  he  left  his  com 
pliments  for  Schon-Rohtraut)  and  another  message  —  I 
have  forgotten  what.  However,  that  is  of  the  less  con 
sequence,  as  I  question  if  we  shall  see  that  beau  tenebreux 
again.  At  all  events,  he  has  already  sailed  for  Europe. 
Tom  swears  it  was  business  which  called  him  away.  / 
think  he  was  simply  bored  ;  and,  indeed,  the  only  won 
der  is  we  should  have  kept  that  unquiet  spirit  for  so 
long.  Of  course,  the  saddest  part  of  it  all  is  the  check 
it  gives  to  our  unfortunate  play.  We  are  seriously  pro 
posing  to  cast  Jack  Stuart  for  the  missing  part,  and  if 
you  will  only  come  back " 

And  so  on. 

"  Conny,"  said  little  Walter,  plucking  curiously  at  her 
skirt;  "has  oo  been  naughty,  Conny?  Is  oo  doin'  to 
ky?" 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  blank,  bewildered  face. 
She  stooped  and  loosened  the  little  hands,  and  walked 
away  without  a  word.  And,  indeed,  what  words  could 
describe  the  storm  of  shame  and  incredulous  despair, 
the  wild  agony  of  longing  which  filled  that  proud  and 
passionate  heart  ?  The  coming  years  might  bring  their 


66  MIRAGE. 

slow-gathering  proof  of  loyalty,  but  it  was  at  that  mo 
ment,  there  in  that  sunny  spring  garden  among  the 
budding  trees,  that  Constance  measured,  once  for  all, 
the  force,  the  vitality,  the  depth  of  this  her  wasted  love. 

And  presently  the  brief  flickering  sunshine  faded  from 
off  the  garden-walks,  a  face  looked  out  of  the  window,  a 
servant  came  to  the  door,  the  children  went  clamorously 
in  to  tea,  and  Constance  was  alone. 

She  was  alone.  It  was  a  mild,  warm  evening  at  the 
end  of  March.  Spring  had  come,  but  the  snow  was 
still  lying  in  loose  white  patches  in  the  hollows  of  the 
hill,  and  the  air  was  full  of  the  damp,  earthy  smell  of 
the  freshly-ploughed  fields.  Presently  she  paused  in 
her  aimless  walking  and  unclenched  her  hands,  smoothed 
out  the  crumpled  folds  of  Fanny's  letter  —  it  was  too 
dark  to  read  their  meaning  now  —  and  sat  wearily  down 
upon  the  steps  of  the  porch. 

She  was  very  tired.  She  leaned  her  head  upon  her 
hand  ;  the  tears  rolled  slowly  down  across  her  fingers  ; 
she  never  moved  to  brush  them  away.  She  was  tired. 
From  across  the  .road  she  could  hear  the  chilly  tinkle  of 
the  thawing  brook  ;  a  thin  white  wreath  of  fog  was 
creeping  slowly  nearer  between  the  trunks  of  the  apple- 
trees  in  the  orchard.  It  seemed  to  her  that  she  had 
seen  it  all  before,  had  lived  through  it  all  before,  had 
known  it  from  the  very  first. 

And  now  it  was  all  over.  "  I  doubt,"  said  Fanny, 
"if  we  shall  ever  see  him  again."  The  intolerable 
weight  of  time  was  pressing  on  her  already,  and  it  was 
not  an  hour  since  she  knew  that  he  was  gone.  He  was 
gone,  and  he  had  left  her  "his  compliments"!  She 
stood  up  ;  a  hot  flush  mounted  to  her  forehead  ;  she 
pressed  her  hand  against  her  burning  eyes.  But  no  ! 
not  even  in  that  first  moment  of  bitter  bewildering  pain, 
not  even  then  would  this  true  heart  swerve  from  its 
allegiance.  And  once  more  the  old  faith,  the  old  words, 
came  to  her  lips  :  her  king  could  do  no  wrong. 

The  pale  thin  mist  came  creeping  up  the  path,  and 
the  wind  blew  keen  and  chill.  She  shivered.  She  lifted 


'CAOSS  COUNTRY.  6/ 

her  face  from  her  hand  and  looked  up,  and  there,  above 
her  head,  shining  down  to  her  through  the  leafltss 
branches,  she  saw  a  solitary  star. 

It  was  an  old  story  of  three  years  before.  But  as  the 
girl  stood  at  the  door  of  her  tent  that  night,  the  same 
wind  seemed  rustling  and  whispering  through  Cleo 
patra's  trees.  She  listened  to  the  sweet,  piercingly 
sweet  rapture  of  the  nightingale ;  she  lifted  up  her 
eyes,  and  shining  through  the  breaking  clouds,  far  off, 
and  pure  and  steadfast  as  her  love,  she  saw  a  solitary 
star. 

And  the  nightingale  went  on  singing,  singing  through 
the  night.  The  clouds  drifted  back  and  covered  the 
sky,  the  wind  was  hushed  among  the  shadowy  trees, 
but  the  nightingale  went  on  singing  till  the  dawn. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

'CROSS   COUNTRY. 

AND  in  the  gray  of  that  dawn  they  started  for  the  river 
Jordan.  The  day  had  broken  wan  and  pale,  with 
no  sunrise,  only  a  cold  dim  light,  which  seemed  to  promise 
rain.  But  how  lovely  every  thing  looked  about  them  as 
they  rode  away  from  camp  !  It  was  so  early  the  very 
flowers  were  still  asleep  in  the  grass,  and  only  here  and 
there  the  first  venturesome  daisies  and  buttercups  already 
opened  their  eyes  at  the  touch  of  the  morning  wind  ; 
but  how  beautiful  were  those  far-off  mountains  which 
barred  the  horizon  with  a  quivering  silver  light !  They 
alone  were  resplendent  in  this  gray  landscape,  under 
this  gray  sky ;  for,  after  passing  the  few  low  ruins  of 
stately  Jericho,  the  travellers  rode  for  hours  across  a 
solitary  and  undulating  plain  —  a  plain  without  grass, 
or  flowers,  or  trees  —  only  at  rare  intervals  some  dense, 


68  MIRAGE. 

dark  growth  of  withered-looking  shrubs,  which  seemed 
clinging  with  a  desperate  tenacity  to  the  sandy  soil. 
There  was  not  a  living  thing  in  sight ;  no  movement 
but  in  the  sky,  where  the  great  loose  masses  of  gray 
clouds  were  carelessly  and  tumultuously  drifting  onward 
to  the  sea. 

.  But  the  vegetation  became  more  luxuriant  as  they 
approached  the  river,  and  close  by  the  water's  edge 
there  was  a  tangled  thicket  of  vine  and  bush  and  broad- 
leaved  sycamore-trees,  which  only  parted  in  one  place 
far  enough  to  show  a  glimpse  of  the  turbid  and  sacred 
stream  —  a  small  and  swift  and  muddy  river,  serving  to 
fertilize  a  narrow  strip  of  land  lost  in  the  wilderness  of 
Judea. 

"  So  that  is  the  Jordan,"  said  Major  Thayer,  after  a 
pause. 

"Yes,  sir;  Jordan,  sir." 

"  I  wonder  —  Now  how  wide  should  you  say  it  was, 
at  a  guess  ?  " 

"  I  give  it  up.     Where's  '  Murray  ? ' ' 

"  I  wish,  how  I  do  wish  Dr.  Adams  were  here  !  And 
I  should  like  to  know  the  precise  spot  where  the  Israel 
ites  crossed,"  said  Fanny,  with  a  sigh. 

And  then  they  all  got  off  their  horses,  and  Mrs. 
Thayer  asked  for  her  Bible.  It  had  been  left  in  the 
palanquin  •  no,  in  the  tent. 

"  I  am  afraid  he  gone  on  with  the  baggage-mules, 
lady,"  said  Hassan,  in  a  deprecatory  way.  And  then 
for  a  few  moments  they  all  wandered  about  under  the 
willows  and  stared  at  the  stream.  And  the  Arabs  sat 
around  in  a  semicircle,  and  thought  —  heaven  knows 
what  they  thought  of  these  Christian  dogs ! 

"Will  you  have  one  bath,  gentlemen?  The  most 
gentlemen  what  come  here  they  go  in  the  water,"  sug 
gested  Hassan,  with  an  anxious  air. 

"  A  bath  ?     Oh,  hang  it  all,  no  !  " 

Mr.  Stuart  strolled  over  to  where  Constance  was 
sitting  by  the  bank.  "  Stupid  river  that,  I  think,"  he 
said,  pointing  with  his  whip. 


'CROSS  COUNTRY.  69 

Miss  Varley  unclosed  her  eyes,  and  looked  at  it  for  a 
minute.  "  It  is  small,"  she  assented  indifferently,  and 
let  her  head  fall  back  once  more  against  the  tree.  She 
was  not  looking  well  this  morning.  Her  face  was  pale 
and  weary-looking;  her  eyelids  heavy,  her  lips  colorless. 

"  You  look  tired,"  said  Jack. 

"No;  but  perhaps  I  did  not  sleep  enough."  She  sat 
up  and  opened  her  eyes,  and  passed  her  hand  through 
her  hair.  "  Did  you  hear  that  nightingale  last  night, 
Mr.  Stuart?" 

"Nightingale?  What  nightingale?  I  did  not  know 
there  was  one,"  said  the  young  man,  in  a  conversational 
manner.  He  took  out  his  knife  and  cut  a  carefully- 
selected  branch  from  one  of  the  willows.  "And  so 
there  was  a  nightingale?"  he  repeated  vaguely,  and  sat 
down  on  the  bank  by  her  side,  and  began  stripping  the 
bark  from  off  his  wand. 

Miss  Varley  turned  her  head  a  little,  and  looked  at 
him  and  smiled.  She  slipped  the  string  of  amber  beads 
off  her  wrist  and  began  swinging  them  slowly  to  and  fro. 

"  How  long  —  how  long  life  seems  on  some  days  !  " 
she  said,  looking  down  on  the  river  at  her  feet. 

A  pause. 

"Life?  Oh  —  I  don't  know.  What  is  the  matter 
with  life?  I  think  it's  —  very  jolly.  Don't  you?" 
answered  Jack,  slowly.  The  breaks  were  when  he 
stopped  to  contemplate  the  effect  of  his  work. 

"  There !  I  call  that  a  very  pretty  mo'nogram  now," 
he  said,  presently,  holding  it  up  and  gazing  at  it  with  a 
critical  eye.  "  It  will  make  you  a  very  good  riding- 
whip  in  the  place  of  the  one  you  lost."  He  twisted  the 
stick  about  and  snapped  it  two  or  three  times  in  the  air. 
"  Lione  !  here,  Lione  !  Come  here,  sir  !  "  But  the  dog 
only  turned  his  head  round  and  yawned,  and  laid  his 
nose  upon  his  paws  again,  winking  with  amiable  in 
difference. 

"  Hassan  is  filling  the  bottles  ;  I  must  fetch  you  some 
of  the  water  to  drink,"  said  Jack,  getting  up  slowly  to 
his  feet. 


70  MIRAGE. 

And  presently  he  came  scrambling  up  the  bank. 
"  Leave  me  a  little,  will  you  ? "  he  said,  bending  down 
and  giving  her  the  glass  with  a  smile. 

"Thanks." 

She  touched  the  water  with  her  lips,  and  then  began 
pouring  it  slowly  out  upon  the  ground. 

"Oh,  I  say,  Miss  Varley,  don't  do  that!  Why,  I 
brought  it  for  you  to  drink!" 

"  If  you  will  look  at  the  dust  on  the  leaves  of  that  un 
lucky  plant — " 

"  But  I  want  some  water  myself,"  said  Stuart,  quickly, 
and  laid  a  detaining  hand  upon  her  wrist. 

Constance  was  very  tall.  Their  two  faces  were  nearly 
on  a  level,  The  young  man  was  looking  straight  into 
her  blue  eyes,  and  there  was  something  defiant,  almost 
hard,  in  their  expression.  He  had  never  seen  that  look 
before.  "  Let  me  go,  Mr.  Stuart." 

"  And  you  will  give  me  the  water,  then  ?  " 

She  hesitated  ;  she  looked  at  the  ground  and  then 
out  at  the  river ;  and  then  her  eyelids  drooped,  and 
there  came  a  sudden  flush  across  her  face.  It  was  the 
second  time  that  Stuart  had  made  her  feel  conscious. 
"  There,  take  it,  please,  and  let  me  go,"  she  said  in  a 
low  voic'e ;  and  there  was  nothing  in  her  tone  of  the 
gracious  indifference  with  which  she  had  hitherto 
spoken  to  Jack. 

Mr.  Stuart  drank  his  water  very  slowly,  and  looked 
after  her  with  a  well-satisfied  smile.  "  Good  Lione, 
good  old  dog  ! "  he  said,  and  called  the  greyhound  to 
him  and  patted  him  on  the  head,  —  "good  old  Lione." 

"  Qui  m'aime  aime  mon  chien, "  observed  Fanny,  watch 
ing  them  from  a  distance.  Major  Thayer  had  studied 
French  for  four  years  at  the  military  academy.  So  he 
only  opened  his  eyes  and  said  nothing. 

And  in  this  way  they  saw  the  Jordan. 

For,  although  it  was  nearly  an  hour  longer  before 
they  ceased  to  ride  along  its  bank,  the  thicket  had  now 
grown  even  denser  than  before  ;  and  this  was  the  last 
sight  of  the  river  for  many  a  day.  It  was  with  very 


'CROSS  COUNTRY.  7 1 

different  feelings  that  two  of  that  party  were  to  look  at 
the  Jordan  again. 

But  now  the  path  wound  through  a  vast  jungle  of  tall, 
feathery  reeds  "  shaken  by  the  wind,"  which  shot  up 
high  above  the  horses'  heads  ;  and,  as  they  rode  along, 
a  wandering  gleam  of  sunshine  turned  all  the  yellow 
plumes  into  a  burning  line  of  gold.  And  still,  as  they 
rode  on,  the  mimosa-trees  grew  ever  farther  and  farther 
apart  ;  the  stunted,  twisted,  tamarisk-bushes,  still  leafless 
and  spotted  with  the  black  remains  of  last  year's  fruit, 
disappeared ;  and  again  they  found  themselves  travers 
ing  a  wide  reach  of  plain,  green  here  and  there  with 
scanty  patches  of  coarse  grass,  but  for  the  most  part 
bare  even  of  stones. 

It  was  pleasant  to  Constance  to  be  once  more  in  the 
midst  of  this  voiceless  calm  —  a  silence  as  profound, 
and  yet  differing  in  quality  from  the  silence  of  the 
desert.  She  dropped  her  reins  upon  her  horse's  neck, 
she  turned  herself  carelessly  about  in  her  saddle  —  a 
gallop  was  out  of  the  question  here,  where  one  dared 
not  lose  sight  of  the  escort  —  and  her  eyes  wandered 
well  pleased  from  the  soft  luminous  sky  overhead, 
across  the  undulations  of  the  plain — fawn-colored,  or 
gray,  or  palest  brown,  as  the  cloud-shadows  floated 
slowly  by  —  to  the  low  and  vast  horizon.  And  now 
all  the  weary  look  had  vanished  from  her  face,  and  in 
its  stead  there  had  come  an  expression  of  deep  and 
quiet  satisfaction.  For  she  was  singularly  sensitive  to 
certain  chance  combinations  of  line  and  color,  this  girl. 
Great  spaces  affected  her  almost  in  the  same  manner 
as  music.  In  some  moods,  she  would  find  a  sensation 
almost  too  keen  for  pleasure  in  some  perfectly  un- 
noticeable  effect  of  light ;  although  as  a  general  thing 
she  avoided  views,  and  had  a  perverse  dislike  to  cele 
brated  landscapes  and  other  classified  beauties  of  Na 
ture.  Just  now  all  the  delicate,  shifting  effects  of  a 
sirocco  morning  were  transfiguring  these,  monotonous 
plains;  and  the  girl  noted  with  ever-renewed  pleasure 
how  every  bit  of  color,  each  touch  of  crimson  or  gold 


72  MIRAGE. 

or  blue  in  scarf  or  cufieh,  seemed  to  accentuate  and 
vivify  the  day.  Long  afterwards  Constance  remem 
bered  this  as  the  distinguishing  quality  of  a  day  made 
memorable  by  an  indefinite  yet  all-pervading  sense  of 
impending  change.  But  the  most  important,  because 
the  most  immediate,  result  of  all  this  was  to  make  hei 
forget  about  Jack. 

For  a  moment  —  it  was  only  for  a  moment  —  some 
thing  in  Stuart's  words,  or  face,  or  action  had  alarmed 
her  with  a  sense  of  oppressive  scrutiny.  His  sudden 
assertion  of  independent  individuality  —  this  new  reve 
lation  of  his  power  to  insist  upon  and  enforce  a  request 
—  had  perplexed  and  startled  her  pride  to  a  degree '.sin 
gularly  out  of  proportion  with  the  triviality  of  its  cause. 
But  it  was  difficult  to  measure  the  full  significance  of 
such  a  silent  concession.  It  was  like  stooping  to  pat 
some  favorite  dog,  and  seeing  him  look  up  at  you  with 
human  eyes.  It  cast  a  curious,  an  alarmingly  suggestive 
light  upon  much  which  had  gone  before.  But  now,  as 
Mr.  Stuart  fell  naturally  once  more  into  his  usual  place 
beside  the  palanquin — talking  for  any  length  of  time  to 
Fanny  was  calculated  to  inspire  one  with  a  protecting 
and  condescending  sense  of  masculine  superiority  which 
was  not  without  its  charm — as  he  rode  on  beside  the 
palanquin,  Constance  looked  at  him  earnestly  again  and 
again,  her  face  clearing  after  each  furtive  examination. 
Not  that  she  was  disposed  to  undervalue  Stuart.  On 
the  contrary.  He  was  very  kind  ;  handsome ;  very 
good-natured.  He  rode  fairly  well.  And  still  —  Tol 
erance  is  not  a  spontaneous  virtue,  but  rather  the  final 
result  of  disappointment  acting  upon  a  noble  mind. 
She  filled  up  the  blank  with  an  emphatic  smile.  The 
reasons  which  most  potently  affect  a  woman's  conduct 
are,  perhaps,  the  only  ones  she  never  puts  into  words. 

But  now  they  came  upon  a  country  of  low  rolling 
downs  ;  and  now  the  hills  grew  higher,  with  steep  sides 
cut  away  until  there  was  barely  room  for  the  cavalcade 
to  pass  in  single  file  along  their  summits  ;  and  presently 
the  sheikh,  riding  on  in  advance,  halted,  held  up  his 


COUNTRY.  73 


hand,  wheeled  about  his  horse,  then  dashed  furiously 
down  the  stony  side  of  a  ravine. 

Before  them  lay  a  pale  and  restless  sea.  The  heavy 
surf  broke  in  dirty  yellow  foam  upon  a  beach  bounded 
and  black  with  long  curving  lines  of  drifted  wood  — 
bleached  boughs  of  forest-trees,  scattered  and  heaped 
like  lines  of  dead  men's  bones  upon  this  desolate  shore. 
All  the  foreground  was  in  shadow  ;  but  out  at  sea  a 
ghastly  sulphurous  light  broke  through  the  shifting 
clouds,  turning  the  water  to  a  dull,  deep  green.  The 
day  had  grown  oppressively  hot,  and  the  white  blinding 
haze  on  the  far-off  mountains,  the  lifeless,  enervating 
wind,  the  dim  sunshine,  the  slow,  sultry  splash  of  the 
waves,  seemed  each  to  add  to  this  oppression. 

"  I  think  —  I  am  sorry  to  keep  you  waiting,  Fanny  ; 
but  if  Jack  is  going  to  have  a  swim,  I  might  as  well  be 
making  a  sketch,"  said  Major  Thayer,  breaking  the 
silence  with  a  start. 

Have  I  given  you  any  definite  idea  of  Major  Thayer  ? 
Imagine  a  tall,  loose-jointed,  large-boned  man  of  about 
fifty  ;  a  thin  man,  with  an  abundance  of  straight  black 
hair,  streaked  here  and  there  with  gray,  and  a  sort  of 
hard  good-nature  written  all  over  the  shrewd-eyed,  reso 
lute  face  —  the  type  of  face  you  see  everywhere  in  Amer 
ica,  on  the  seat  of  an  express-wagon  or  on  the  benches 
of  the  Senate.  But  Major  Thayer's  life  had  reached  to 
neither  extreme.  Some  thirty  years  before  the  time  I 
write  of,  young  Tom  Thayer  was  one  of  a  class  of  West 
Point  graduates,  whom  a  paternal  government  had  plied 
for  years  with  small  but  constantly  repeated  doses  of 
French  Grammar,  Fortifications,  and  the  Higher  Math 
ematics,  before  sending  them  out  to  consider  upon  these 
points  in  the  undisturbed  seclusion  of  a  frontier  post. 
But  as  not  even  four  years  of  daily  drill  can  wholly 
eradicate  all  individuality,  to  these  resources  against 
ennui  young  Thayer  added  the  then  rather  uncommon 
accomplishment  of  a  pronounced  feeling  for  art,  as  sym 
bolized  by  small  water-color  sketches  of  undecided  merit. 
And  it  was  this  feeling,  doubtless,  which  saved  him  from 


74  MIRAGE. 

habits  whose  merit  was  still  more  questionable.  *  for 
thirty  years  ago  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  army 
officer  were  not  yet  above  criticism.  Whiskey  and  cards, 
until  one's  pay  gave  out,  and  then  whiskey  again,  varied 
by  such  conversation  as  might  be  naturally  expected 
from  a  party  of  isolated  men,  to  whom  pleasure  was  lim 
ited  by  their  respective  powers  of  drinking,  to  whom 
literature  was  represented  by  some  odd  numbers  of  a 
sporting  novel,  and  to  whom  civilization  meant  the  ex 
termination,  in  a  given  space  of  time,  of  a  given  number 
of  Indians  —  such  was  their  commonest  formula. 

Second-Lieutenant  Thayer  had  entered  the  United 
States  army  with  a  certain  amount  of  enthusiasm,  a 
determination  to  distinguish  himself  speedily,  and  a 
confident  belief  in  the  rapidity  of  well-deserved  promo 
tion.  Of  course  we  all  know  that  private  interest  has 
nothing  to  do  with  advancement  in  a  well-organized 
republic  ;  and  it  is  presumable  that  even  in  184 —  the 
country  had  already  approximated  to  its  present  standard 
of  official  integrity.  But  young  Thayer  had  no  influential 
friends.  And  sixteen  years  after  entering  the  service 
the  enthusiasm  had  somewhat  subsided,  and  Lieutenant 
Thayer  was  Lieutenant  Thayer  of  Fort still. 

Perhaps  this  may  have  had  something  to  do  with  it ; 
perhaps  he  was  only  carrying  out  a  long-matured  wish 
of  emancipation.  In  either  case,  one  fine  morning  he 
went  through  his  last  drill,  made  out  his  last  report  of 
missing  -buttons  and  unregimental  ties,  shook  hands 
with  all  his  former  comrades  at  the  gate,  climbed  into 
the  army  wagon  which  already  held  his  modest  stock 
of  worldly  goods,  and  started  for  the  East. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  fertility  of  resource  of  the  native 
American  rather  than  the  eternal  fitness  of  things  which 
was  illustrated  by  his  next  move  ;  for,  three  months  after 
this  exodus,  Mr.  Thayer  was  occupying  the  chair  of 
.Professor  (of  Belles  Lettres,  Painting,  and  Perspective) 
in  a  large  Presbyterian  College  for  Young  Ladies,  where 
tea-drinking  took  the  place  of  whiskey,  and  gossip,  dress, 
and  religion  offered  a  pleasing  change  of  topic  from  the 


'CROSS   COUNTRY.  75 

familiar  stories  of  his  late  companions.  He  stayed  there 
nearly  six  months. 

It  was  a  piquant  enough  contrast  at  the  first ;  but  even 
a  contrast  need  not  necessarily  be  an  improvement.  I 
am  afraid  Mr.  Thayer  was  bored.  You  see  it  is  quite 
within  the  range  of  possibility  that  a  middle-aged  man, 
with  inexpressive  eyes  and  a  necktie  of  the  wrong  color, 
may  yet  be  capable  of  cherishing  an  ideal  which  even 
the  most  fashionably-dressed  young  lady  of  his  acquain 
tance  may  fail  to  satisfy.  Perhaps  the  young  ladies,  on 
their  side,  showed  but  little  inclination  to  discover  the 
secret  sentiments  of  this  awkward  and  silent  man,  whose 
embarrassed  blushes  presented  a  somewhat  startling 
contrast  to  their  own  becoming  equanimity.  In  either 
case  the  result  was  the  same  ;  within  six  months  of  his 
arrival  at  Princetown,  Mr.  Thayer  again  sent  in  his 
resignation  and  departed. 

He  departed  somewhat  suddenly  at  the  last.  Rumor 
averred  that  this  unexpected  haste  was  somehow  con 
nected  with  an  interview  of  an  interesting  and  strictly 
private  character,  which  the  late  professor  obtained  from 
one  of  his  youngest  and  prettiest  pupils.  But  Rumor  is 
a  proverbially  fallacious  goddess,  even  in  the  serene 
exclusion  of  a  female  college  ;  and  we  need  hardly  credit 
this  report  further  than  we  like.  Whatever  matrimonial 
disappointment  he  may  have  met  with,  Mr.  Thayer's 
next  reappearance  was  in  California,  where  he  remained 
for  some  years :  a  period  in  his  existence  which  Fanny 
always  vaguely  but  decidedly  referred  to  as,  "  The  time 
when  my  husband  was  in  business  "  —  that  elastic  phrase 
which,  in  a  mercantile  community,  may  surely  outrival 
charity  in  its  capacity  for  covering  a  multitude  of  sins. 
In  this  case  it  covered  nothing  worse  than  an  insurance- 
office,  some  experience  in  the  mines,  an  unlimited  quan 
tity  of  quartz,  and  a  very  small  one  of  gold. 

It  was  not  until  after  the  close  of  the  Civil  War  — 
through  which  he  had  passed  in  a  sober,  efficient  man 
ner —  that  Mr.,  now  Major,  Thayer  once  more  returned 
to  the  East ;  and  it  was  with  very  different  prospects. 


76  MIRAGE. 

For  this  time  the  unexpected  inheritance  of  a  rather 
handsome  fortune  stood  him  in  good  stead  —  a  most 
becoming  background  to  his  many  excellent  traits.  At 
least  such  was  the  opinion  of  Mrs.  Van  Ness,  whom  he 
chanced  to  meet  the  very  day  of  his  arrival  at  Nahant, 
walking  upon  the  sands  with  a  young  friend — of  Mrs. 
Van  Ness,  who  needed  but  one  moment  to  see,  remem 
ber,  go  through  some  rapid  mental  calculations,  and 
then  advance  towards  him  with  a  perfectly  unaffected 
smile  ;  a  cordial  greeting  ;  an  invitation  to  dinner. 

"For  we  shall  not  let  you  escape  us  now.  It  is  our 
turn  to  do  something  for  you,"  she  said  ;  and  here  Miss 
Fanny  looked  up  and  smiled.  "  Do  let  us  return  a  little 
of  what  we  owe  to  you  —  to  all  the  brave  defenders  of 
our  country,"  said  Mrs.  Van. 

And  there  must  have  been  something  in  the  phrase 
which  struck  the  good  lady's  fancy  ;  for  it  was  with  a 
nearly  identical  choice  of  words  that,  three  months  later, 
she  presented  Major  Thayer  with  her  blessing,  a  set  of 
frail  old  china,  and  the  hand  of  her  dear  young  friend. 

Unfortunately  this  opportunity  of  making  a  study  of 
Major  Thayer's  impressions  of  married  life  is  ren 
dered  impossible  by  a  total  lack  of  material.  For  of 
the  two  people  most  closely  concerned  in  the  ex 
periment,  one  of  them  was  silent  with  the  habit  of  half 
a  lifetime  ;  and  I  am  under  the  impression  that  Mrs. 
Fanny  knew  very  little  about  her  husband.  Certainly 
she  liked  him  very  well  ;  at  the  first,  was  even  inclined 
to  fascinate  him  into  subjection  with  all  the  small  and 
pretty  persistencies  of  a  kitten  investigating  the  un 
known  substance  of  its  ball ;  but  what  with  one's  toilet, 
one's  servants,  and  one's  pastor,  the  affections  must 
necessarily  be  limited  in  their  calls  upon  one's  time.  ' 
After  the  second  year  of  their  marriage,  Mrs.  Thayer 
rather  neglected  these  little  conjugal  coquetries,  sagely 
reflecting,  perhaps,  that  a  devotion  to  society  at  large 
certainly  included  one's  own  husband  to  a  quite  suffi 
cient  extent.  There  were  a  score  of  men  scattered  about 
the  world  to  whose  lips  old  Tom's  name  was  sure  to 


'CROSS  COUNTRY.  77 

bring  a  ready  smile,  a  cordial  word  of  liking  and  rough 
devotion  ;  but  to  this  amiable  and  demonstrative  little 
woman  he  called  his  wife,  he  soon  assumed  the  place  of 
a  secondary  providence,  whom  one  might  always  count 
upon  in  an  emergency,  and  —  being  careful  of  course  to 
propitiate  it  from  time  to  time  —  safely  and  affably 
ignore  among  the  minor  pleasures  of  life. 

And  yet,  on  the  whole,  above  all,  seen  in  the  proper 
focus  of  her  own  comprehension  of  things,  it  must  be 
conceded  that  Fanny  behaved  pretty  well.  Just  now, 
for  instance,  she  could  scarcely  be  expected  to  derive 
much  pleasure  from  this  enforced  halt  by  the  Dead 
Sea ;  but  you  would  hardly  have  guessed  as  much  from 
the  facile  smile  with  which  she  glanced  around  and  beck 
oned  to  Constance  to  draw  near. 

"  You  have  been  so  quiet  all  the  morning,"  she  said 
coaxingly,  looking  up  into  her  friend's  face.  "  Are  you 
very  tired  ?  Very  hot  ?  Jack  says  you  have  a  headache ; 
is  it  so  ?  " 

"Oh  —  I  am  quite  well,"  Constance  answered,  with  a 
quick  gesture  of  dissent. 

"  Because  Jack  was  afraid  you  might  be  over 
tired." 

Miss  Varley  smiled  ;  opened  her  lips  as  if  about  to 
speak  ;  thought  better  of  it,  and  remained  silent  —  gaz 
ing  absently  out  at  sea. 

"  You  are  not  going  to  dismount  ?  " 

"  It  was  hardly  worth  the  trouble,"  the  girl  answered, 
hesitating,  and  then  slipped  her  foot  from  the  stirrup 
and  swung  herself  lightly  down.  One  of  the  muleteers 
was  passing;  she  threw  him  the  reins  and  went  and  sat 
down  on  the  sand,  in  the  shadow  of  Fanny's  palanquin. 
It  seemed  even  hotter  now  that  they  were  no  longer  in 
movement,  and  there  was  nothing  to  break  the  silence 
but  the  sleepy  lapping  of  the  waves. 

"The  world  is  small  after  all,"  said  Mrs.  Thayer,  in 
a  meditative  voice,  and  after  a  long  pause. 

"  Why  so  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  was  thinking.     I  was  speaking  to  Jack  about 


78  At  I  RAGE. 

Morris  Stuyvesant  this  morning.  It  .is  curious  he  should 
have  known  —  " 

"Speaking  about  Mr.  Stuyvesant?  Oh,  Fanny,  ho\v 
could  you  do  such  a  thing?"  said  Constance  hastily, 
biting  her  underlip  and  turning  very  red. 

"  Well,  and  why  should  I  not  ?  One  must  speak 
of  somebody  or  other.  And  what  harm  is  there  in 
Mr.  Stuyvesant's  name,  you  silly  child,"  cried  Fanny, 
in  high  good-humor,  nestling  more  luxuriously  down 
amongst  her  cushions,  and  smiling  affectionately  at 
her  friend  with  half-shut  eyes. 

And  it  was  precisely  this  apparent  innocence  of  any 
ulterior  motive  which  made  it  so  difficult  to  resent 
any  of  Fanny's  actions.  Somebody  said  once  of  Mrs. 
Thayer,  that  she  was  a  woman  with  the  nature  of  a 
zoophyte.  She  was  gifted  with  a  positive  talent  for 
small,  incessant  effort ;  and,  like  the  work  of  that  coral- 
insect  to  which  she  had  been  likened,  there  was  a 
wonderful  power  of  cohesion,  and  hardness,  and  resist 
ance  in  all  the  accumulated  mass  of  these  delicate,  im 
perceptible  touches.  Just  now  it  suited  her  plans  for 
Constance's  benefit  —  and  in  point  of  fact,  she  was  as 
thoroughly  well-intentioned  a  little  woman  as  you  will 
often  find  —  it  suited  her  plans,  I  say,  to  fill  all  her  con 
versation  with  a  thousand  floating,  intangible  allusions 
and  implications,  whose  immediate  effect  was  first  to 
embarrass,  and  then  to  force  the  girl  into  ever  closer 
companionship  with  Jack. 

Miss  Varley  did  not  feel  particularly  interested  by 
young  Stuart.  This  vigorous,  energetic  young  fellow, 
with  his  keen  enjoyment  of  life,  his  shrewd  and  limited 
intellect,  and  his  habit  of  looking  at  things  from  their 
most  obvious  and  common-place  side  —  whose  concep 
tion  of  his  relation  to  his  fellow-man  never  rose  higher, 
or  went  deeper,  than  an  easy-tempered  wish  that  every 
one  might  be  as  comfortable  as  possible  without  disturb 
ing  any  existing  arrangements  ;  and  whose  most  inde 
pendent  mental  action  was  the  sincere  and  simple  dislike 
he  cherished  for  any  man  who  did  not  get  along  and  en- 


' CX OSS  COUNTRY.  79 

joy  himself  without  making  a  row  over  it  —  belonged  to 
quite  another  section  of  humanity  from  herself.  There 
was  no  quality  in  common  between  them  but  their  youth  ; 
and  yet  by  some  fatality  circumstances  seemed  con 
stantly  conspiring  to  bring  them  closer  together. 

For  example.  They  had  found  a  lovely  spot  for  their 
noonday  halt  —  a  wild  and  shadowy  ravine,  shut  in  by 
overhanging  rocks  —  a  deep  and  fragrant  resting-place, 
all  redolent  with  the  faint  and  clinging  perfume  of  the 
cyclamen.  Luncheon  was  just  over,  and  they  were  lying 
about  on  the  grass  and  fern,  glad  to  escape  for  an  hour 
from  the  vision  of  that  colorless,  pitiless  sky,  and  all  the 
heat  and  burden  of  the  outer  day. 

"  Does  anybody  know  what  has  become  of  that 
game-bag  ?  "  cried  the  Major,  suddenly  looking  up  from 
his  cigar.  "  Pass  it  over  here,  like  a  good  fellow.  I 
should  like  to  have  another  look  at  that  last  bird  you 
shot." 

"  Did  Jack  shoot  those  partridges  ?  I  thought  it  was 
the  sheikh." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Constance,  innocently,  "  it  was  Jack." 

Mrs.  Thayer  laughed. 

"I  —  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Stuart,"  the  girl  stam 
mered,  turning  very  pink. 

"Why  should  you?  I  like  it,"  said  Jack,  with  mali 
cious  emphasis. 

"  Never  mind,  Constance.  '  A  rose  by  any  other 
name,'  &c.,"  suggested  the  Major,  good-naturedly,  throw 
ing  a  chicken-bone  to  the  dog. 

"  I  heard  Dr.  Adams  read  that  once.  It  was  to  try 
the  effect  of  the  new  sounding  board.  I  never  heard 
anybody  reading  Shakspeare  like  —  " 

But  had  Miss  Varley  quite  lost  her  head  in  conse 
quence  of  this  last  blunder  ?  "I  wish  Dr.  Adams 
were  —  in  Jericho,"  she  said,  with  sudden  calm  au 
dacity.  "  He  belongs  to  a  class  of  clergymen  who  are 
nothing  in  the  world  but  so  many  dragomen  —  spiritual 
dragomen,  I  mean.  They  have  the  same  glib  inexact 
ness  in  their  statements  about  the  holiest  things  —  " 


80  MIRAGE. 

"  Constance !  " 

"  The  same  fine  indifference  to  irreconcilable  facts," 
and  here  she  stopped  and  laughed,  and  looked  demurely 
defiant  at  Fanny.  "  They  are  equally  accustomed  to 
taking  people  in  and  doing  for  them  —  " 

But  Mrs.  Thayer  had  assumed  an  appearance  of 
blank  insensibility.  She  had  a  rare  faculty  —  which 
she  shared  with  many  women  and  a  particular  class  of 
beetles — for  effacing  herself  morally,  for  becoming  at 
once  flat  and  blind  and  tenacious  at  the  first  symptom 
of  attack. 

"  It  was  not  difficult,"  she  observed  presently,  wkh  a 
suggestion  of  cold  disapproval  in  air  and  voice,  "it, was 
not  difficult  to  understand  from  whom  these  sentiments 
had  taken  their  origin.  A  girl's  assertions  are  the 
merest  reflex  of  what  she  believes  to  be  the  convictions 
of  the  man  she  most  admires.  And  she  had  observed 
that  ever  since  Mr.  —  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  for  interrupting,  but  —  Lione  is 
eating  up  all  the  sardines,"  said  Jack,  with  happy 
irrelevance. 

It  was  curious  what  a  repugnance  the  young  man  was 
fast  acquiring  for  even  the  slightest  mention  of  Mr. 
Stuyvesant's  name. 

Not  long  after  that,  they  began  climbing  the  road  to 
Mar  Saba.  From  time  to  time  a  break  in  the  intermin 
able  range  of  hills  let  through  some  glimpse  of  the  Dead 
Sea,  now  black  with  storm,  now  glittering  in  the  sun, 
or  again,  as  they  rose  higher  above  it,  of  clearest  steely 
blue.  And  then,  leaving  the  last  rounded  hillslope  at 
their  feet,  and  as  the  day  was  fast  drawing  to  its  close, 
they  reached  a  winding  road  hewn  out  in  the  living 
rock.  Above  them  towered  a  huge  mass  of  mountain, 
so  barren,  so  nakedly  barren,  that  not  even  the  poorest 
shrub  clings  to  its  rocky  side  ;  below  was  the  precipice. 
It  is  a  place  where  Nature  seems  flayed  alive  —  dead 
and  desolate  and  sterile  as  the  lives  whose  long  blind 
agonies  of  patience  have  consecrated  these  stones.  For 
here,  clinging  to  the  side  of  the  ravine,  its  gray  walls  a 


STONE  WALLS  DO  NOT  A  PRISON  MAKE.     8 1 

very  part  of  the  gray  rocks  about  them,  they  came  upon 
the  oldest  convent  in  the  world —  a  living  tomb,  buried 
in  a  wilderness,  in  the  name  of  a  religion  whose  very 
principle  was  life. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

STONE   WALLS   DO   NOT   A   PRISON    MAKE. 

WELL,  Constance !  " 
"  I  say,  Miss  Varley,  what  do  you  think  of 
this  for  weather? " 

"  Oh,  my  dear  child,  how  wet  you  are  !  Don't  come 
near  me,  there  's  a  darling.  But  you  will  surely  take 
your  death  of  cold." 

"  I  think,"  said  Miss  Varley,  gravely,  throwing  back 
the  hood  of  her  cloak,  and  making  an  ineffectual  attempt 
at  closing  her  umbrella,  "  I  think  the  Deluge  was  a  dry 
joke  in  comparison." 

And  the  heavy  downpour  of  the  storm  upon  the 
canvas  roof,  the  wild  gust  of  wind  which  blew  open  the 
tent-door  at  that  moment,  only  seemed  to  add  emphasis 
to  the  remark. 

It  had  been  raining  all  through  the  night.  It  had 
been  raining  all  the  morning.  It  was  already  threaten 
ing  rain  the  day  before  as  they  rode  away  from  the 
almond  orchards  encompassing  about  the  gray  old 
walls  of  Bethlehem  with  a  triple  crown  of  pale  and 
fragrant  bloom.  They  were  camping  now  at  Bethel, 
their  tents  pitched  on  the  grass-grown  bottom  of  an 
ancient  reservoir,  which  to-day's  storm  seemed  fast 
restoring  to  its  original  purpose. 

"  Him  one  very  bad  look-out  —  very  bad  look-out  for 
the  ladies,  sir,"  said  Hassan,  taking  off  his  fez  with  an 
air  of  great  despondency. 

The  men   had  been  at  work  since  dawn  digging  a 
6 


82  MIRAGE. 

trench  about  the  encampment,  and  already  a  thin  treach 
erous  stream  was  creeping  in  beneath  the  sodden  can 
vas,  and  settling  in  little  yellow  pools  about  each  table 
and  chair. 

Towards  noon  there  came  a  slight  break  in  the  clouds. 
Jack  took  up  his  hat  and  lit  a  cigar.  "I  can't  stand 
this  any  longer,"  he  said,  and  went  out.  When  he  re 
turned  an  hour  later,  the  rain  was  pouring  down 
harder  than  ever,  and  he  himself  was  stained  with  mud 
from  head  to  foot.  There  was  a  kind  of  village,  a  dozen 
Arab  huts  or  so,  higher  up  on  the  hill,  he  explained,  and 
he  had  met  one  of  the  natives,  an  old  man,  who  off.ered 
to  show  him  a  newly-discovered  tomb.  "  He  said  no 
one  had  ever  been  inside  it  but  himself,  an  Englishman, 
and  two  dogs.  I  thought  I  might  as  well  add  my  name 
to  the  list,  particularly  as  the  place  is  not  yet  down  in 
'  Murray.' " 

"  And  you  saw  nothing  inside  ?  " 

"  Nothing  but  mud." 

"You  should  not  try  to  bring  away  all  you  see,  Mr. 
Stuart,"  said  Constance,  with  a  smile. 

But  it  must  be  admitted  that  the  situation  was  assum 
ing  a  dreary  aspect. 

"  I  remember  just  such  a  storm  one  night  on  the 
Plains  in  '59,"  Major  Thayer  remarked  as  they  sat 
down  to  dinner  ;  and  a  singularly  incoherent  repast  it 
proved  to  be,  brought  in  by  relays  of  dripping  servants 
from  the  kitchen-tent  across  the  way.  "  Shall  I  give 
you  some  of  this  chicken,  Fanny,  or  will  you  wait  for 
the  soup  ?  " 

And,  as  he  spoke,  there  came  a  sudden  gust  of  wind 
that  seized  upon  the  tent,  shaking  it  violently  from  side 
to  side. 

"  There  goes  the  table.  Mind  your  fingers,  Con 
stance  !  "  said  Stuart,  with  a  reckless  laugh. 

And  the  next  moment  there  came'  a  long,  tearing 
crash,  a  shriek  from  Fanny,  struggling  in  her  arm-chair 
with  the  foldings  of  her  plaid,  a  quick  snapping  of  cords 
and  flapping  of  wet  canvas,  and  then  the  night  and  the 


STONE  WALLS  DO  NOT  A  PRISON  MAKE.    83 

storm  seemed  rushing  in  upon  them.  The  wind  had 
blown  over  the  tent. 

It  was  only  a  moment  of  course,  before  the  men  had 
got  it  up  again.  But  now,  indeed,  things  were  begin 
ning  to  look  serious. 

"  It  is  very  bad,  I  am  afraid  very  dam  bad  for  my 
ladies,  sir,"  said  Hassan,  with  respectful  regret.  "  Beds 
all  wet;  tent  full  of  water  —  " 

The  men  were  hammering  all  around  them  at  the 
pegs. 

"  Those  pins  can  never  hold  in  this  soft  earth  if  the 
wind  rises  again,"  said  Stuart. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause.  Fanny  had  hidden  her 
head  among  the  cushions  ;  Miss  Varley  was  standing 
beside  her,  holding  her  hand,  and  looking  anxiously  at 
the  different  speakers  in  turn.  The  cold  had  grown 
intense. 

"  Perhaps .  It  seems  to  me  that  I  do  not  hear 

the  rain,"  she  said. 

Major  Thayer  went  to  the  doorway  and  looked  out. 
He  drew  his  head  in  again  with  a  sudden  exclamation. 
"  I  thought  it  was  coming,"  he  said,  quietly ;  and  held 
out  his  arm  for  them  to  see.  The  sleeve  of  his  coat  was 
all  white  with  freshly-fallen  snow. 

It  was  dark  by  this  time,  and  Paolo  was  making  an 
ineffectual  attempt  at  lighting  the  candles. 

"  Why  don't  you  bring  in  the  lantern  ?  "  said  Jack.     ' 

The  insufficient  light  seemed  to  make  their  forlornness 
more  complete,  and  Fanny  moaned  feebly  at  sight  of 
the  situation  it  revealed. 

.But  half  an  hour  later,  perhaps,  Mrs.  Thayer  was  too 
dismayed  to  moan.  She  was  clinging  with  both  arms 
around  the  neck  of  a  stalwart  Syrian,  muffled  in  sheep 
skins,  and  looking  like  a  brigand,  who  with  bent  head 
and  cautious  footsteps  was  picking  his  way  among  the 
stones  and  bog  towards  the  shelter  of  the  village.  The 
white  drifts  of  snow  only  gave  greater  value  to  the  dark 
ness  ;  the  driving  sleet  clashed  in  her  face  whenever  she 
lifted  it  to  look  about  her ;  the  wind  was  growing  wilder 


84  MIRAGE. 

with  the  falling  night ;  and  now,  in  surplus  of  Horror, 
her  guide  was  ascending  a  steep  and  slippery  path,  and 
beginning  to  pant  and  stagger  beneath  his  load. 

But  now,  surely,  the  worst  of  it  was  over.  They  had 
passed  up  a  narrow  stair,  and  in  under  a  low  stone 
archway  ;  and  now  Fanny  found  herself  gently  sliding 
to  the  earth.  Before  her  was  a  small  vaulted  enclosure, 
bare  and  absolutely  empty  of  any  furniture  but  a  roll  of 
bedding  hastily  flung  upon  the  ground.  The  room  was 
full  of  smoke,  and  at  its  farther  end  she  saw  a  fire,  and 
Constance  crouching  down  before  it  warming  her  hands. 
It  was  very  dreary  certainly,  but  they  had  had  to  -turn 
out  a  whole  family  to  get  even  that. 

"  And  Hassan  is  delighted.  He  says  it  is  one  very 
much  better  place  than  he  expected  to  find,"  said  Miss 
Varley,  looking  up  with  a  laugh. 

It  was  a  wretched  evening  at  the  best.  The  narrow 
room  was  barely  large  enough  to  hold  the  four  mat 
tresses  and  leave  a  small  clear  space  before  the  fire.  It 
was  impossible  to  stand  ;  the  smoke  was  too  thick  to 
allow  them  to  sit  up  for  more  than  a  few  moments  at  a 
time  ;  and  if  the  door  was  opened  —  window  there  was 
none  —  a  quick  white  drift  of  snow  came  whirling  in 
across  the  floor. 

"  I  think  I  begin  to  discern  some  of  the  minor  advan 
tages  of  civilization,"  remarked*  the  Major,  grimly. 

Once,  towards  morning,  Constance  awoke.  The  air 
had  grown  very  chill.  The  room  was  still  full  of  a  thin 
blue  haze,  but  the  fire  was  blazing  brightly,  and  Stuart 
was  standing  before  the  hearthstone  piling  on  more 
wood.  At  the  slight  sound  she  made,  raising  herself 
up  upon  her  elbow,  he  turned  his  head,  saw  her  eyes 
open  and  watching  him,  and  smiled. 

"  I  think  the  wind  is  falling.  It  is  not  snowing  now," 
he  said  in  a  whisper. 

"It  is  so  cold  !" 

"  Come  and  warm  yourself  by  the  fire.  Wait  ;  I  will 
make  you  a  seat." 

He  dragged  a  rug  from  off  his  bed,  rolled  it  up  and 


STONE  WA LLS  DO  NOT  A  PRISON  MA KE.    8 5 

threw  it  down  upon  the  floor.  "  There  ;  sit  there,"  he 
said. 

She  came  slowly  forward,  smiling  —  a  tall  slim  figure 
—  gathering  up  the  long,  dark  folds  of  her  habit  in  both 
hands.  Her  face  was  all  warm  and  rosy  with  sleep,  like 
the  face  of  a  little  child. 

"  You  look  about  six  years  old,"  said  Stuart. 

"  Hush  !     You  will  wake  them  up." 

She  sat  down  before  the  fire,  blinking  a  little,  and 
putting  up  her  hand  to  shade  her  eyes  from  the  light. 
They  began  talking  together  in  whispers. 

"Is  it  late?" 

"  Half-past  three." 

"  I  wish  I  could  see  if  it  had  stopped  snowing." 

"  Oh,  you  can  look  if  you  like.  I  have  found  a  way 
to  open  the  door." 

"  Hush !  "  said  Constance,  with  her  finger  to  her  lip. 

They  listened  a  moment. ' 

"  No.  Poor  Fanny  was  awfully  tired.  I  don't  think 
you  would  wake  her  easily,"  said  Jack. 

They  both  rose,  and  began  moving  cautiously  towards 
the  door.  Presently  Miss  Varley  caught  her  foot  in  the 
long  folds  of  her  dress  and  stumbled  against  the  mat 
tress.  Jack  seized  hold  of  her  arm.  "  Be  careful," 
he  said  ;  and  then  Mrs.  Thayer  sighed  heavily,  twice, 
and  stirred  in  her  sleep.  .  They  held  their  breath.  Was 
she  awaking  ?  No,  it  was  nothing.  Mr.  Stuart  turned 
to  his  companion  with  a  comical  smile  of  relief.  He 
was  still  standing  with  his  hand  upon  her  arm,  and  so 
close  to  her  that  he  could  see  her  eyes  shining  in  the 
firelight ;  he  could  feel  her  breath  coming  quicker  with 
stifled  laughter. 

"  Come  on  !  " 

They  crept  to  the  door,  and  Jack  opened  it  noiselessly, 
an  inch  at  a  time. 

"  There  is  only  a  narrow  ledge  outside  there.  Mind 
you  don't  slip  off  the  step." 

The  night  was  very  still  and  cold.  They  were  look 
ing  out  across  a  wide  plain  ;  the  air  was  full  of  a  strange 


86  MIRAGE. 

**•*-•»      "* 

uncertain  light,  reflected  from  the  snow.  It  was  a  star 
less  night ;  the  sky  was  broken  and  full  of  movement : 
one  felt,  rather  than  saw,  the  ceaseless,  tumultuous 
unrest  of  the  wind-vexed  clouds.  It  had  stopped  snow 
ing  ;  only  now  and  then  a  large  flake  floated  slowly 
down  and  fell  upon  Miss  Varley's  upturned  face.  They 
were  standing  under  the  shelter  of  a  small  stone  arch 
way,  built  over  the  door.  Beside  them  was  a  second 
stairway  leading  to  the  roof.  Constance  laid  both  her 
hands  upon  this  parapet,  leaning  farther  out.  She 
shivered. 

"  You  are  cold.  Give  me  your  hand  again  ;  I  am  so 
afraid  you  will  fall,"  the  young  man  said  in  a  whispSr. 

The  fingers  he  took  in  his  were  burning  hot.  There 
was  something  strangely  magnetic  in  their  careless 
touch.  He  felt  his  own  pulse  quicken — a  sense  of 
confused  pleasure  which  sent  the  blood  pulsating  faster 
through  his  veins. 

"I  wish  she  would  say  something — I  hope  she  will 
not  go  away,"  he  thought. 

"  You  see  —  I  mean  —  it  is  not  snowing  any  more," 
he  said  aloud,  with  an  effort. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  But  the  wind  blows  all  your 
words  away.  I  did  not  hear — " 

"I —  Oh,  it  was  nothing."  And  then,  after  a 
pause  :  "  Miss  Varley  !  " 

"Well?" 

"  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  something." 

"Tell  you  what?"  she  said  again,  after  waiting  a 
moment. 

What  was  he  going  to  ask  her?  Perhaps  he  hardly 
knew  it  himself.  But  as  he  hesitated  they  heard  the 
wind  rising  far  down  beneath  them  in  the  valley,  the 
dark  mass  of  clouds  overhead  was  rent  asunder  with 
sudden  force,  and  for  one  instant,  through  their  trail 
ing  edges,  appeared  the  pallid  disk  of  the  pale  storm- 
troubled  moon  ;  and  in  another  second  the  darkness 
closed  about  them,  the  bitter  blast  swept  in  long  gusty 
sighs  over  the  field  of  snow.  As  Constance  turned  her 


STONE  WALLS  DO  NOT  A  PRISON  MAKE;    87 

face  towards  him  the  wind  caught  in  her  long  and 
loosened  hair,  and  blew  it  full  across  his  lips. 

They  both  laughed  ;  they  both  turned  with  a  common 
impulse  to  seek  once  more  the  shelter  of  the  room. 
But  Miss  Varley  was  fast  asleep  —  she  had  been  calmly 
asleep  for  hours  —  before  he  could  free  himself  from 
the  memory  of  that  clinging,  silken  touch. 

The  next  morning  broke  cold  and  dark.  A  wild 
white  storm  was  raging  among  the  hills,  and  now  the 
heavy,  noiseless  fall  of  snow  was  interrupted  by  fierce 
intervals  of  hail  and  sleet.  Unfortunately,  they  had  all 
awakened  early.  Indeed,  they  had  had  but  little  in 
ducement  to  prolong  their  sleep ;  still  less,  perhaps,  to 
face  the  uncompromising  length  of  all  those  smoke-filled 
hours.  For  in  their  hurried  exodus  of  the  night  before 
it  now  appeared  no  one  had  contemplated  the  possibility 
of  a  lengthened  imprisonment. 

Their  resources  against  ennui  were  singularly  few,  and 
consisted  chiefly  in  cigars,  a  small  pocket  Bible,- and  a 
fragmentary  pack  of  cards  —  the  two  latter  a  contribu 
tion  from  the  dragoman.  Perhaps  there  was  something 
in  the  very  incongruity  of  the  gift  which  served  as  its 
antidote  ;  it  may  be  that  even  euchre  requires  a  mind 
unhampered  by  preoccupation ;  certainly  Mr.  Stuart 
was  the  first  to  throw  up  his  hand,  the  first  to  declare 
that  the  game  was  not  a  success.  And  although  there 
was  a  certain  satisfaction  in  knowing  this  was  Bethel, 
although  they  had  been  nearly  drowned  upon  the  very 
spot  where  Jacob  slept  and  dreamed,  still  it  was  really 
snowing  too  hard  for  one  to  care  for  Jeroboam. 

Historical  associations  were  all  very  well  in  their 
place.  "  You  need  not  laugh,  Tom  !  I  'm  sure  there 
is  not  one  of  you  more  interested  in  sacred  geography 
than  myself ;  but,  oh,  it  was  dreadful  how  one  missed 
one's  four-o'clock  tea,"  Mrs.  Thayer  remarked,  with  a 
yawn. 

"  And  yet  it  might  have  been  worse,  you  know,"  Con 
stance  suggested  cheerfully,  looking  up  from  one  of  the 
desultory  attempts  at  amateur  cookery  with  which  they 


88  MIRAGE. 

».         "^ 

tried  to  diversify  the  day.  "  When  you  are  anxious  not 
to  have  your  chocolate  burn,  Mr.  Stuart,  you  should 
keep  your  eyes  on  the  fire,  and  not  be  watching  me. 
It  might  have  been  worse,  Fanny,  after  all,"  Miss  Var- 
ley  said. 

"  How  ? " 

"  We  might  have  been  here  with  Aunt  Van !  " 

Major  Thayer  laughed.  There  are  limits  to  human 
endurance,  he  objected,  dryly,  however  little  Constance 
might  take  the  fact  into  account. 

And  "  Oh,  of  course.  It  is  well  known  that  poor 
Mrs.  Van  Ness  can  never  do  any  thing  to  please  Tom," 
his  wife  remarked,  with  a  sigh. 

"  What !  Not  when  she  introduced  me  to  you,  my 
dear  ? "  he  asked,  with  perfect  good-humor. 

Miss  Varley  smiled.  Her  earliest  recollection  of  her 
aunt  was  a  peculiar  one,  she  observed,  turning  to  Stuart. 
It  dated  back  years  and  years  ago,  to  the  time  when 
Mr.  Van  Ness  was  still  alive.  Mr.  Van  Ness  had  been 
extremely  handsome.  "  My  father  remembers  him  as 
quite  a  young  man,  and  very  proud  of  his  complexion 
and  hair  ;  but  when  we  children  knew  him  he  had  been 
injured  in  a  railway  accident.  They  told  us  he  had 
been  all  patched  together,  and  we  used  to  spend  whole 
hours  watching  him  in  the  hope  he  might  come  undone," 
Constance  added,  with  a  laugh.  "  But  the  first  time  I 
saw  them  my  father  had  taken  me  down  to  The  Cottage 
with  him  —  perhaps  as  a  palliative;  for  he  had  gone 
there  with  bad  news  about  the  marriage  of  one  of  our 
cousins.  I  remember  Aunt  Van  sitting  on  one  side 
of  him,  holding  his  hand  and  sobbing :  '  Oh,  my  dear 
Henry,  if  she  marries  an  unbeliever,  think  —  think  of 
her  immortal  soul ! '  and  Uncle  Van  on  the  other  side  : 
'  Bother  her  soul,  Henry  ;  has  the  man  means  ?  What 
means  has  the  man  got  ?  Bother  his  soul ! '  " 

"  And,  oh  Constance,  have  you  forgotten  Miss  Wal 
lace  ?  Miss  Wallace  is  one  of  Aunt  Van's  protegees, 
Jack—" 

"  She  really  is  very  good,  you  know." 


STONE  W 'ALLS  DO  NOT  A  PRISON  MAKE.    89 

"One  of  her  protegees  —  a  thin  little  woman,  with  a 
long  thin  neck,  and  faded  eyes  and  ringlets.  In  the 
afternoon  she  puts  on  a  black  silk  apron,  and  sits  in 
her  little  garden  under  a  rose-tree,  watching  the  hens 
and  reading  Miss  Porter's  'Scottish  Chiefs.'  She  is 
poor  —  oh,  wretchedly  poor  !  —  but  she  traces  her  pedi 
gree  back  to  Sir  William  Wallace  ;  and  about  twice  a 
year  she  gets  a  letter  from  a  cousin  who  sends  her  money. 
She  calls  that  '  a  communication  from  the  family.' " 

Miss  Varley  had  remarked  as  a  curious  fact  that, 
when  by  any  chance  there  has  been  a  great  man  in  any 
family,  his  descendants  seem  to  pride  themselves  upon 
getting  as  far  away  from  him  as  possible. 

"  Yes  ;  but  I  must  tell  Jack  about  Aunt  Van,"  said 
Fanny,  laughing.  "  You  see,  she  had  taken  a  great 
fancy  to  a  particular  dentist  in  New  York  —  Aunt  Van 
is  always  taking  particular  fancies  —  and  nothing  would 
satisfy  her  but  giving  the  man  a  trial.  She  could  not 
go  herself  —  perhaps  she  did  not  care  to  ;  so  what  does 
she  do  but  send  poor  Miss  Wallace,  with  strict  orders 
to  have  all  her  teeth  drawn  out  and  an  entirely  new  set 
put  in  —  at  Aunt  Van's  expense.  'It  will  be  such  a 
comfort  to  you,  my  dear,  when  it  is  all  over,'  Aunt  Van 
told  her,  patting  her  on  the  shoulder.  '  But,  dear  Mrs. 
Van  Ness,  I  have  never  had  a  toothache  in  my  life  ! ' 
'The  very  reason  you  should  take  precautions.  There, 
my  dear,  there ;  we  '11  say  nothing  more  about  it,'  says 
Aunt  Van,  patting  her  again.  And  the  poor  thing 
actually  had  it  done.  It  made  her  very  ill,  I  remember, 
and  Mrs.  Van  used  to  go  down  and  look  at  her,  and  tell 
her  how  thankful  she  ought  to  be  to 'think  it  was  all 
over.  But  she  has  always  been  especially  fond  of  Miss 
Wallace  to  this  day." 

Mr.  Stuart  laughed.     "I  should  like  to  see  her." 

"  Oh,  it  is  not  unlikely.  We  left  her  at  Naples  ;  but 
there  was  some  talk  of  her  joining  us  at  Damascus 
before  we  left." 

"  Now,  heaven  forbid  !  "  ejaculated  the  Major,  with 
edifying  fervor. 


90  MIRAGE. 

. — — >r- — •— 

"  What !  afraid  of  her  are  you,  Tom  ?  And  you,  Miss 
Varley,  are  you  one  of  the  victims  too  ? "  said  Jack. 

There  was  certainly  something  peculiar  about  Mr. 
Stuart  that  day.  He  had  hardly  spoken  to  Constance 
twice  since  morning,  and  yet  the  girl  was  constantly 
aware  of  his  attentive  and  persistent  glance.  "  And 
you,  Miss  Varley,  are  you  afraid  of  her  too  ? "  he  asked. 

"Oh,  I  like  Aunt  Van  — in  a  fashion.  I  have  known 
her  all  my  life  ;  and  she  is  really  very  kind-hearted  if 
you  only  agree  with  her." 

Major  Thayer  shook  his  head  dubiously,  making 
some  confidential  remark  to  his  cigar.  * 

"  Well,  I  frankly  admit  it  —  if  Constance  is  not  afraid 
of  her,  I  am,"  said  Fanny,  laughing.  "  But  that  is  one 
of  the  advantages  of  being  small :  you  are  not  expected 
to  be  uncomfortably  brave." 

But  Mr.  Stuart  questioned  the  sentiment.  The  Major 
went  still  farther  —  he  denied  it. 

"The  pluckiest  man  I  ever  knew,"  he  said  deliber 
ately,  "was  a  quiet,  delicate-looking  little  fellow,  and 
not  much  to  look  at,  any  way.  It  was  quite  at  the  end 
of  the  war.  He  was  with  the  Sanitary  Commission  peo 
ple  at  first,  and  then  in  the  hospitals.  Wouldn't  fight 
because  he  was  half  a  Southerner  by  birth,  and  had  some 
kind  of  scruple  about  it ;  but  he  knew  the  country,  and 
if  ever  there  was  a  bit  of  dangerous  reconnoitering  to  be 
done,  it  was  Lawrence  who  volunteered." 

"  Lawrence  ?  What  Lawrence  ?  You  don't  mean 
Denis  Lawrence,  surely  ? "  said  Mrs.  Thayer. 

Miss  Varley  started.  She  got  up  suddenly,  and  began 
collecting  the  cards  scattered  over  the  floor. 

Yes ;  Major  Thayer  meant  Denis  Lawrence. 

"  Why,  you  knew  him,  Jack.  You  must  have  seen 
him.  Wasn't  he  at  The  Farm  three  years  ago,  the  win 
ter  you  were  there  ?  " 

Jack  recollected  him  perfectly.  He  had  never  ex 
changed  more  than  a  dozen  words  with  Mr.  Lawrence- 
Fanny  would  remember  he  left  the  day  of  Mr.  Stuart's 
arrival.. 


STONE  WALLS  DO  NOT  A  PRISON  MAKE.    91 

"  Well,  Constance  remembers  him  at  any  rate." 

Miss  Varley  was  building  a  card  house.  This  is  a 
delicate  operation,  requiring  a  steady  hand  and  undi 
vided  care.  Perhaps  this  was  the  reason  her  answer 
came  with  some  reluctance.  "  Yes,  I  remember  him," 
she  said. 

"Once  —  it  was  in  the  times  of  Mosby's  raids,  all  the 
country  was  upside  down,  and  the  niggers  coining  into 
camp  every  day,  each  one  with  a  different  story  —  he 
started  out  to  do  a  little  scouting.  Deuced  bad  weather 
it  was,  raining  as  it  only  rains  in  Virginia,  and  go  where 
he  would  there  wasn't  a  gray-coat  to  be  seen.  He  was 
coming  back.  He  had  stopped  to  get  some  supper  in  a 
cabin,  when  the  old  darky  comes  running  in  :  '  Look  out, 
massa  !  Massa  Mosby  comin'  up  to  the  door  ! '  Law 
rence  runs  to  the  window ;  and,  by  Jove  !  there  was 
Mosby  himself,  and  a  dozen  of  his  men,  riding  in  at  the 
gate.  The  house  was  one  of  those  one-room  Southern 
shanties,  built  in  a  clearing,  with  a  wood-pile  at  the 
back.  Since  our  fellows  came  so  near  trapping  him  at 
the  Corner,  Mosby  was  always  precious  careful  not  to 
get  caught  without  a  sentry  again  ;  so  he  posts  his  men 
about  the  house,  and  comes  in  just  as  Lawrence  swings 
himself  out  of  the  back  window  and  on  top  of  the  wood. 
—  But,  Constance,  I  am  sure  I  have  told  you  this  story 
before  ? " 

"  Oh,  please  go  on,"  said  Miss  Varley,  very  quickly. 
Her  card  house  had  fallen  to  pieces  at  her  feet.  She 
was  sitting  with  her  hands  clasped  tightly  together;  and 
Mr.  Stuart  noted  with  wonder,  with  admiration,  perhaps 
even  with  a  certain  instinctive  and  unreasoning  jealousy, 
the  rapt  excitement  transfiguring  her  face. 

"  Well,  the  guerillas  were  in  high  spirits  and  made  a 
night  of  it.  Twice  they  sent  men  out  to  bring  in  more 
wood,  and  Lawrence  felt  them  dragging  the  logs  out 
from  under  his  pile,  and  heard  them  swearing  at  the 
rain.  Just  before  dawn  they  fired  the  cabin,  '  to  teach 

that  d d  nigger  to  give  gentlemen  a  better  supper 

another  time,'  and  rode  away.  But  the  point  of  the 


92  MIRAGE. 

story  is  that  some  one  asked  Denis  afterwards  what 
he  was  thinking  of  while  he  was  there  in  hiding.  '  Oh,' 
says  Lawrence  —  you  know  his  quiet  way  of  speaking  — 
'  it  was  raining  so  hard,  and  I  take  cold  so  easily,  I  was 
wishing  I  had  thought  to  bring  an  umbrella.' " 

A  pause. 

"  By-the-way,  this  Mr.  Lawrence  is  a  Catholic,  isn't 
he  ?  "  said  Jack,  suddenly,  with  an  air  of  great  unconcern. 

"Oh,  yes;  his  mother  was  a  Catholic,  you  know. 
His  mother  was  a  Miss  De  Bray,  from  Virginia.  The 
De  Brays  are  all  Roman  Catholics,  but  I  daresay  Mr. 
Lawrence  —  " 

Miss  Varley  found  it  impossible  to  imagine  any  reason 
which  should  prevent  Mr.  Lawrence  from  belonging  to 
any  form  of  religion  he  preferred  ;  still,  as  a  matter  of 
fact  —  "I  remember  his  telling  me  once  that,  to  him, 
the  mind  of  a  modern  convert  to  the  Catholic  Church 
was  like  the  walled-up  window  of  a  house.  The  outline 
of  the  window  was  preserved,  but  serving  as  a  repository 
for  rubbish  instead  of  a  passage  for  light." 

"Would  you  mind  saying  that  over  again?  I  am 
afraid  I  did  not  quite  understand  the  idea,"  said  Jack. 

Fanny  looked  at  him  with  unaffected  wonder.  There 
must  surely  be  something  abnormal  in  any  set  of  cir 
cumstances  so  evidently  disturbing  to  Mr.  Stuart's 
equanimity. 

It  may  be  that  the  young  man  is  aware  of  it  himself. 

"  Confound  that  snow.  I  —  I  think  I  shall  go  out 
for  a  little  while,  and  see  what  Hassan  has  been  doing 
with  those  horses,"  he  says  presently,  and  he  goes  out 
with  a  stride  and  the  door  closes  behind  him. 

Fanny  has  had  time  to  fall  asleep  before  he  returns, 
but  Constance  —  Miss  Varley  —  is  sitting  in  precisely 
the  same  attitude,  and  still  playing  with  her  cards.  It 
has  grown  into  a  wonderful  erection  by  this  time,  that 
pasteboard  castle  at  her  feet.  And  Mr.  Stuart  stands 
beside  it,  and  looks  at  the  young  architect  with  a  suffi 
ciently  peculiar  expression. 

"I  —     Fanny  is  asleep  you  know,  and  it  would  be  a 


STONE  WALLS  DO  NO  T  A  PRISON  MAKE.    93 

pity  to  wake  her  up ;  but  I  thought  —  It  has  stopped 
snowing,"  says  this  considerate  young  man,  "  the  clouds 
are  all  blowing  away.  Put  on  your  cloak  and  come  up 
on  the  terrace  and  see  the  sunset,"  he  suggests. 

What  a  charming  idea  !  Miss  Varley  is  on  her  feet 
in  a  moment.  A  sunset,  the  fresh  air  —  what  could  be 
pleasanter?  "  Where  is  your  hat,  Tom  ?  Do  find  your 
hat.  Has  Mr.  Stuart  seen  thg  Major's  hat  ?  " 

"  It —  There  is  a  good  bit  of  snow  on  the  ground," 
Mr.  Stuart  remarks,  "and  if  the  Major  has  any  fear  of 
taking  cold  —  " 

"  But  how  am  /  to  go  out,  then  ? "  cries  some 
body  else  in  great  perplexity.  "  I  have  only  these 
boots  — 

It  is  a  very  pretty  little  foot  Miss  Varley  holds  out  for 
inspection,  and  Mr.  Stuart  doubtless  is  not  unaware  of 
the  fact. 

"  I  —  don't  —  think  you  will  get  your  boots  wet,"  the 
young  man  says,  looking  very  foolish  ;  "  the  fact  is,  I 
thought  you  might  like  to  go  up  there.  And  there  wasn't 
much  snow  on  the  steps.  And  so — " 

"  And  so  somebody  has  been  spending  his  time  clear 
ing  it  off  ?"  cries  out  the  Major,  with  a  laugh.  "Cer 
tainly  you  cannot  do  less  than  accept  such  primitive 
marks  of  good-will  from — from  the  natives.  Go,  my 
dear  Constance,  go  ;  it  will  do  you  good.  But  if  you  will 
excuse  me,  I  think  I  shall  remain  indoors,  and  —  and 
take  care  of  my  rheumatism,  as  Jack  suggested." 

And  so  presently  these  young  people  take  their  de 
parture.  And  presently  Mrs.  Thayer  wakes  up  —  takes 
her  head  from  out  the  cushions,  that  is  to  say  —  and 
looks  about  her  with  a  very  sprightly  air. 

"  Yes,  they  have  gone.  They  went  while  you  were 
sleeping,  my  dear,"  says  the  Major,  eying  his  wife  rather 
curiously. 

"Oh,  they  have  gone,  have  they?"  remarks  that  lady, 
with  great  satisfaction.  "  Well,  let  us  hope  dear  Con 
stance  won't  catch  cold." 

"Let  us  hope  dear  Constance  won't  —  won't  catch 


94  MIRAGE. 

the  rheumatism,  while  we  are  about  it,"  says  Tom,  with 
another  queer  smile. 

"  Catch  the  rheumatism  ?  Catch  the  fiddlestick  !  " 
cries  Fanny,  with  great  decision.  "  Jack  is  a  dear,  good 
fellow.  I  was  always  fond  of  Jack." 

"Oh,  so  am  I  —  uncommonly.  And,  as  you  were 
saying,  Jack  has  a  very  good  business  head  ;  and  when 
his  father  dies  he  will  come  into  a  very  pretty  iucome, 
no  doubt.  And  —  and  dear  Aunt  Van  will  be  so  pleased 
at  your  marrying  off  Constance  after  her  own  failure  in 
that  line." 

It  is  decidedly  dark  in  this  smoky  little  chamber, 'but 
I  think  there  is  no  doubt  that  Fanny  blushes  at  «this 
juncture. 

"Have  I  ever  said  a  word  about  marrying  off  Con 
stance?"  she  demands  with  some  trepidation. 

"Never,  my  dear,  never  !  Let  me  do  you  the  justice 
to  say  you  have  never  mentioned  it.  And  I  don't  think 
you  ever  spoke  to  me  much  about  that  pretty  Miss 
Schuyler  Jack  was  so  infatuated  with  last  year.  Last 
year?  Stop  !  I  think  it  was  only  this  spring.  But  you 
should  know,  Fanny  ;  you  keep  a  better  account  of  the 
boy's  flirtations  than  I." 

"I  —  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  says 
Fanny,  still  more  meekly.  It  was  so  seldom  Major 
Thayer  took  the  trouble  to  put  his  observations  into 
words,  his  wife  was  apt  to  treat  them  with  the  kind  of 
respect  one  accords  to  a  powder-magazine.  There  was 
no  means  of  estimating  what  an  explosion  of  all  her  little 
devices  might  be  impending.  "  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know 
what  you  mean,"  says  Fanny.  "I  don't  see  what  there 
was  to  laugh  at  in  Jack's  way  of  coming  for  her.  I 
thought  it  was  very  pretty  myself." 

"  I  thought  you  were  asleep,  my  love,"  says  the 
Major,  taking  out  his  cigar-case. 

"  At  all  events,  Jack  is  your  own  cousin  —  your  own 
cousin,  remember,  and  not  a  relative  of  mine,"  says 
Mrs.  Thayer,  with  great  dignity ;  "  and  I  think  you  might 
—  I  mean,  I  think  —  "  She  hesitated,  she  looked  up, 


STONE  WA LLS  DO  NOT  A  PRISON  MA KE.    95 

she  laughed,  and  laid  her  pretty  head  against  her  hus 
band's  arm.  "  Don't  interfere,  there  's  a  dear  good  old 
Tom,"  she  said  coaxingly. 

"/  interfere?  You  are  quite  right  in  mapping  out 
your  friends'  careers  for  them,  my  dear  child  ;  you  cer 
tainly  are  a  very  remarkable  judge  of  character,  /inter 
fere  with  Master  Jack's  amusements?  Not  if  I  know 
it,"  said  the  Major,  grimly.  "Jack  is  my  cousin,  you 
say?  Very  well.  I  don't  know  that  there  is  any  thing 
in  that  fact  to  prevent  his  being  a  young  idiot  as  well. 
For  Constance  won't  marry  him.  Constance,  let  me 
tell  you,  has  no  desire  to  go  and  live  in  the  streets  of 
Gath.  You  cannot  bribe  her  with  a  country  house  in 
Ascalon  —  " 

"  Ascalon  !  Gath  !  "  Mrs.  Fanny  protested  she  had 
not  an  idea  what  the  Major  could  mean. 

"  I  mean  —  by  George  !  —  I  mean  that  our  cousin  is  a 
young  Philistine,  my  clear.  An  honest,  good-looking,  stu 
pid  young  Philistine,  with  no  more  chance  of  ever  evolv 
ing  an  idea  from- that  handsome  head  of  his  than  I  have 
of  being  made  Prime  Minister.  I  mean  that  Constance 
has  more  in  her  little  finger  than  that  good-natured  young 
donkey  in  all  his  brain.  I  mean  that  Jack  had  better 
stick  to  leading  cotillons,  and  flirting  with  the  Schuyler 
girls,  and  putting  his  father's  money  into  circulation 
for  the  next  five  years  at  least ;  and  Constance  — " 

"  Constance  is  quite  old  enough  to  know  her  own 
mind  —  quite,"  said  Miss  Varley's  friend,  with  some 
impatience.  "  But,  Tom"  (she  put  her  other  hand  upon 
her  husband's  shoulder),  "don't  interfere,  dear  Tom. 
Let  things  take  their  own  course,  that 's  all  I  ask  of 
you,"  she  said. 

Major  Thayer  was  in  the  habit  of  accepting  his  wife's 
caresses  with  much  philosophy.  "  All  right.  Only  let 
me  light  my  cigar  in  peace,"  he  answered  good-hu- 
moredly.  "  If  Jack  doesn't  make  a  young  fool  of  himself 
to  please  you,  you  may  be  sure  that  Tom  or  Dick  or 
Harry  will.  A  man  can  only  be  young  once.  Let  the 
boy  enjoy  himself  while  he  can.  He  '11  come  upon  his 


96  MIRAGE. 

troubles  fast  enough  —  and  come  out  of  them,  too.  Men 
have  died  and  worms  have  eaten  them,  but  not  for  love," 
remarked  this  ex-Professor. 

"  I  don't  see  how  that  applies  to  Jack,"  said  Fanny, 
with  mild  persistence. 

But,  for  my  part,  I  fancy  the  Major  was  not  refer 
ring  to  Jack. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

ON   THE    HOUSE-TOP. 

AT  first  she  would  speak  of  nothing  but  the  view. 
"  It  was  a  joy,  oh,  such  a  joy,  to  breathe  this  air  !  " 
she  said.  She  threw  back  the  hood  of  her  cloak  ;  she 
leaned  her  arms  upon  the  parapet ;  she  looked  down 
into  the  valley.  The  desolation  of -the  winter  was 
about  them.  Here  and  there  a  thin  blue  fillet  of  smoke 
rose  steadily  up  through  the  windless  afternoon,  and 
here  and  there  the  brown  walls  of  a  house  stood  clear 
of  the  drifted  snow. 

The  thaw  had  begun ;  the  air  was  full  of  its  faint 
whisperings  —  the  gurgling  sound  and  the  stir  of  run 
ning  water. 

"  I  can't  understand  why  you  should  look  so  happy 
to-night,"  said  Stuart,  presently,  leaning  forward  and 
looking  up  into  her  face ;  "  what  are  you  smiling  to 
yourself  about  ?  You  look,"  said  the  young  man,  sus 
piciously,  "  you  look  like  a  person  who  has  heard  good 
news." 

Constance  laughed.  "Well  —  you  have  just  told  me 
we  should  get  away  to-morrow,"  she  answered  evasively  ; 
but  she  had  the  grace  to  blush  as  she  spoke. 

"I  —  I  dreamed  about  you  last  night,"  said  Jack, 
looking  away  again  and  digging  his  stick  into  the 
snow. 


ON  THE  HOUSE-TOP.  97 

"  Did  you  ?  " 

"  It  was  a  nice  —  an  extremely  nice  dream." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Miss  Varley,  very  gravely,  opening 
her  blue  eyes  to  their  widest  extent ;  "  indeed  !  " 

"  And  —  I  say,  Miss  Varley  —  Constance  —  I  wonder 
if  you  would  mind  if  I  should  call  you  Constance?  " 

"Mind  it?     No!" 

"  What !  really  not  ?  " 

"  Really  not.  Why  should  I  ?  If  it  gives  you  any 
pleasure,  call  me  so  by  all  means.  And  then,  you 
know,  when  one  remembers  the  example  I  set  you  the 
other  day  — " 

"But  you've  never  called  me  by  my  name  since  — 
not  once,"  says  Mr.  Stuart,  eagerly. 

"  Haven't  I  ?  How  very  neglectful  I  am  to  be  sure !  " 
says  Miss  Constance,  beginning  to  laugh  again. 

She  is  always  laughing  at  him,  Mr.  Stuart  thinks 
savagely ;  and  perhaps  the  young  man's  face  expresses 
some  of  the  discomfiture  he  feels,  for  presently  : 

"  Have  I  really  vexed  you  ?  I  am  so  sorry.  Indeed, 
I  did  not  mean  to.  But  after  all  that  smoke  I  think  this 
fresh  air  must  be  going  to  my  head  ! "  somebody  says, 
with  the  utmost  friendliness.  "  Come,  Mr.  Stuart  — 
come  Jack  "  —  and  here  a  dogskin  gauntlet  is  held  out  to 
him  —  "forgive  me,  and  shake  hands,  and  make  friends 

—  won't  you  ?  "  says  the  owner  of  the  glove. 

Forgive  her  !  make  friends  !     Mr.   Stuart  is  ready  to 

—  to  —     In  fact,  you  know  he  is  ready  — 

Perhaps  it  is  quite  as  well  for  the  duration  of  the 
present  peace  that  he  is  too  much  occupied  in  digging 
holes  in  the  snow  with  his  stick  to  look  up  as  he  makes  the 
foregoing  statements,  and  see  the  frank  surprise,  the  mis 
chievous  amusement  that  fill  the  blue  eyes  by  his  side. 

But  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  such  an  event  as 
the  imprisonment  of  a  whole  company  of  backshish- 
giving  howadji  could  pass  unnoticed  in  an  Arab  village. 
We  may  be  sure  that  many  a  pair  of  dark,  intent  eyes 
have  been  observing  the  proceedings  of  these  two  young 
people  from  the  neighboring  roofs. 


98  MIRAGE. 

"  Look  !  there  is  a  man  at  his  prayers,"  says  ton- 
stance,  pointing  with  her  hand,  and  then  falls  silent, 
watching  the  tall  figure  rising  and  bowing  —  a  dusky 
shape  against  the  winter  twilight.  There  is  always  a 
certain  suggestion  of  melancholy  in  a  figure  seen  thus  — 
a  black  silhouette  against  a  fading  sky  —  no  longer  an 
individual  man,  but  a  mere  fraction  of  humanity  half- 
hidden  in  the  gathering  shadows.  It  is  Nature's  revenge 
upon  man's  daytime  supremacy  —  a  transfiguration  in 
which  all  the  commonplace  of  appearance  and  existence 
disappear,  are  lost  in  the  great  mystery  of  coming  night. 
The  last  wan  line  of  crimson  dies  away  behind  the  hills  ; 
here  and  there  a  star  is  shining  in  the  pale,  cold  blu'e  of 
the  sky. 

"I  should  like  to  know  what  you  are  thinking  of," 
says  Jack,  breaking  a  longer  silence  than  has  ever  fallen 
between  them  before. 

Thinking  of  ?  Miss  Varley  looks  up  at  him  with 
somewhat  wistful  eyes. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  an  old  ballad  I  knew  once,"  she 
says  slowly,  beginning  to  count  the  amber  beads  about 
her  wrist  as  she  speaks  ;  it  is  a  familiar  action  of  hers, 
and  one  that  betokens  some  inward  perturbation.  "  An 
old  German  ballad.  I  knew  some  one  who  —  I  mean, 
I  have  heard  it  sung.  Perhaps  you  know  it.  '  Schon- 
Rohtraut.'1  It  is  Schumann's  music.  I  cannot  tell  you 
who  wrote  the  words." 

"  Oh,  I  should  probably  be  not  much  the  wiser  if  you 
did,"  says  Jack  simply.  "  You  know  I  never  did  care 
much  for  books." 

And,  indeed,  this  was  quite  true.  Mr.  Stuart's- rela 
tion  to  literature  being  not  unlike  that  of  a  Newfound 
land  dog  to  the  water. 

He  could  acquit  himself  quite  creditably  while  in  this 
unfamiliar  element ;  might  even  secure  some  small  waif 
or  stray  not  too  heavy  to  float,  to  which  his  attention 
had  been  especially  directed  ;  and,  once  on  dry  land 
again  (so  to  speak),  you  may  be  sure  he  lost  no  time  in 
shaking  off  the  last  vestiges  of  his  late  exploit. 


ON  THE  HOUSE-TOP.  99 

"I  did  not  know  you  cared  for  German  songs,"  he 
says. 

"  I  care  for  this  one." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  I  see  Hassan  bringing  up  the  dinner.  I  can  see 
Abdallah's  smile  from  this  distance,"  remarks  Miss 
Varley,  calmly,  in  answer  to  this  last  demand. 

And  this,  I  protest,  is  a  full,  a  faithful  account  of  the 
momentous  interview  upon  which  Fanny  had  based  so 
many  hopes. 

But  would  Fanny  believe  it  ?  She  greets  her  friend 
with  her  most  innocent  smile.  They  have  kept  dinner 
waiting?  Not  a  bit  of  it !  Fanny  likes  to  have  dinner 
wait.  She  is  sure  the  air  has  done  Constance  good. 
Jack  was  so  very  right  not  to  let  the  Major  expose  him 
self.  Dear  Tom  cannot  be  too  careful. 

"  Dear  Tom  can  very  easily  be  too  hungry,  though," 
says  the  Major  with  a  grin. 

"  I  am  very  sorry.  I  knew  we  should  be  late.  But 
I  could  not  get  Jack  to  come  down,"  says  Miss  Varley, 
simply. 

"Dear  Constance!"  Mrs.  Thayer  goes  up  and  em 
braces  her  friend  with  artless  effusion  ;  "  my  dear 
Constance ! " 

"Pray,  don't  let  me  hurry jou.  What  is  dinner  in 
comparison  to  the  affections  ? "  says  the  Major,  again 
eying  this  group. 

"  Dinner,  Fanny !  and  Tom  shall  tell  us  some  of  his 
army  stories  at  dessert.  Tom  has  developed  wonder 
fully  of  late,"  cries  Constance,  gaily ;  "  I  'm  sure  I 
never  knew  him  to  be  so  interesting  before." 

And  this  time  Mrs.  Thayer  does  not  offer  any  em 
brace. 

When  they  leave  Bethel,  a  feeble  sun  is  struggling 
through  the  morning  mist.  At  first  the  road  they  follow 
leads  them  across  a  field  of  stones,  a  plain  of  scattered 
ruins  buried  in  the  half-melted  snow ;  and  then,  for  a 
mile  or  two,  their  path  is  the  broken  bed  of  a  mountain 
torrent,  where  the  sure-footed  Syrian  horses  scramble 


100  MIRAGE. 

and  poise  like  goats  upon  the  massive  boulders,  or 
splash,  knee  deep,  through  sudden  icy  pools.  And  now 
they  have  reached  a  lower  level,  where  rain,  not  snow, 
has  fallen  through  the  storm.  There  is  a  stirring  of 
color  among  the  hedgerows,  a  gleam  of  scarlet  anemones, 
a  flash  of  yellow  butter-cups,  some  hint  of  hidden  sweet 
ness  from  a  starry  clematis-vine.  As  they  go  down, 
lower  and  lower,  dry  spots  and  sheltered  nooks  appear. 
At  midday  they  stop  for  luncheon  at  the  Robber's  Foun 
tain  —  a  high,  gray  cliff  towering  above  three  brimming 
basins  of  hollowed  stone,  and  all  overgrown  with  deli 
cate  drooping  fern  and  frail  white  tufts  of  cyclamen.' 

And  now  the  road  grows  wider,  and  winds  past  end 
less  orchards  of  shadowy  olive-trees  ;  gray-green  as  a 
mass,  shivering  into  sharpest  silvery  light  as  the  wind 
stirs  in  their  branches.  Then  a  long  reach  of  pale 
young  wheat  "springing  out  of  the  earth  clear  shining 
after  the  rain,"  so  tender,  its  color  is  steel-blue  in  the 
sunshine,  deepening  to  rings  of  greenest  emerald  where, 
here  and  there,  an  olive  stands  amongst  the  grain  and 
casts  its  shadow  on  the  ground.  At  every  step  the 
terraced  hills  sink  lower,  the  valley  opens  farther  out 
before  them.  A  hundred  new  born  flowers  look  joy 
ously  up  from  out  the  grass  ;  birds  are  calling  to  each 
other  from  the  shelter  of  the  small  young  leaves  ;  a 
weak  wind  is  chasing  the  light  cloud-shadows  faster 
across  the  plain ;  it  seems  the  very  resurrection  of  the 
spring  ! 

"Do  you  see  that  village  over  there?  That  is  Shi- 
loh,"  says  Constance,  pointing  with  her  whip.  "Jack, 
if  you  will  ride  up  to  Fanny  and  tell  her  that  is  Shiloh,  I 
will  bet  you  a  pair  of  gloves  she  mentions  Dr.  Adams's 
famous  sermon  about  the  Infant  Samuel  three  times 
within  the  next  fifteen  minutes  !  " 

"Why  do  you  so  dislike  poor  Dr.  Adams?  "  says  Mr. 
Stuart,  reproachfully. 

"  I  don't  dislike  him  ;  he  bores  me  ;  he  is  a  big  man 
who  is  always  making  feeble  puns  and  jokes — mild, 
clerical  jokes,  don't  you  know,  with  a  musty,  flabby 


ON  THE  HOUSE-TOP.  IOI 

feeling  about  them,  as  though  he  kept  them  in  the 
same  barrel  with  his  sermons." 

"I  wish — I  really  do  wish  you  would  not  say  such 
things,"  says  Jack,  with  sudden  gravity. 

"  What  things  ?  and  why  npt  ?  " 

"  Oh,  laughing  at  people,  and  so  on.  I  never  heard 
my  mother  or  my  sister  laugh  at  a  clergyman  in  my 
life,"  he  says  in  a  very  positive  manner.  And  then 
there  is  a  long  silence.  Miss  Varley  is  looking  at  the 
hedgerows  with  an  inquiring  air  ;  Mr.  Stuart  is  watch 
ing  her  face. 

"  You  — you  are  not  angry  ?  "  he  asks  presently,  riding 
up  closer  to  her  as  he  speaks.  "  Constance,  you  are  not 
angry  ?  I  would  not  offend  you  for  the  world  !  " 

Miss  Varley  is  not  offended  in  the  least ;  in  fact,  does 
not  see  why  she  should  be —  and  says  so,  with  exasper 
ating  calm. 

"  And  you  will  give  up  the  habit  —  for  my  sake  ? " 

"Oh,  if  I  had  such  a  habit,  and  there  was  any  harm 
in  it  —  which,  mind  you,  I  don't  admit  —  and  if  I  gave  it 
up  for  anybody  it  would  certainly  be  to  please  Fanny," 
Miss  Varley  answers,  carelessly  enough. 

"And  you  would  not  do  it  for  me?"  He  rests  his 
hand  upon  the  neck  of  her  horse,  and  half  checks  his 
own,  and  looks  down  into  her  face.  They  are  riding  in 
'a  narrow,  sunken  lane,  across  which  a  branching  fig-tree 
casts  the  dappled  shadow  of  its  small  young  leaves.  As 
they  slacken  their  pace,  Lione  comes  bounding  back  and 
looks  up  at  them  and  whines  and  rubs  his  golden-brown 
head  against  Miss  Varley's  horse. 

"  You  won't  do  it  for  my  sake,  Constance  ?  "  says  Jack. 
It  makes  a  very  pretty  group,  seen  from  the  palanquin. 

She  lifted  her  face  up  suddenly  and  looked. at  him 
straight  in  the  eyes.  Once  before  he  had  seen  this 
same  expression  of  distress,  of  defiance  in  her  glance. 
"  I  wish  you  would  speak  of  something  else,"  she  says 
bravely,  but  with  a  palpable  effort. 

"  I  will  do  as  you  like,"  the  young  man  answered 
simply. 


102  MIRAGE. 

w.™ r" 

They  rode  on  for  nearly  a  mile  without  another  word. 

The  camp  that  night  was  in  the  plain  of  Labban.  A 
hundred  feet  away  from  the  tent-door  a  little  spring 
bubbled  up  amongst  the  fern-grown  ruins  of  an  ancient 
khan.  Farther  on,  a  long  green  reach  of  meadow-land 
was  dotted  with  feeding  herds  —  big,  brown-skinned 
cattle  —  guarded  by  brown-cloaked  Bedawy. 

It  was  a  simple  and  patriarchal  scene ;  and  after 
dinner,  as  they  sat  in  the  doorway  of  the  tent,  drinking 
coffee,  it  was  pleasant  to  see  these  strange  and  savage 
figures  sitting  .motionless  in  the  last  level  rays  of  the 
sun,  or  leaning  upon  their  spears,  watching  their  flocks 
by  night. 

"  That  village  we  passed  this  afternoon  was  Shiloh," 
Fanny  remarked,  after  a  while.  "Did  you  know  it? 
I  wish  some  one  had  told  me  of  it  sooner,  for  Dr. 
Adams  —  " 

Jack  laughed  involuntarily,  and  looked  over  at  Miss 
Varley.  She  was  sitting  on  the  grass,  playing  with 
Lione's  ears  as  he  rested  his  head  on  her  lap.  There 
was  something  very  gentle,  very  subdued  in  her  manner 
that  evening.  She  hardly  spoke.  Once  or  twice  as  Jack 
looked  up,  he  felt  her  eyes  fixed  upon  him.  There  was 
a  singular  seriousness,  something  almost  melancholy  in 
their  glance. 

"  Are  you  tired,  child  ? "  asks  Fanny,  presently,  lean 
ing  back  in  her  chair. 

"  Very." 

"  I  'm  sure  I  don't  wonder  at  it !  That  constant 
riding  is  so  fatiguing.  Even  I,  with  my  palanquin,  am 
quite  used  up.  I  don't  want  to  disturb  you,  Jack,  but 
if  you  would  hand  me  that  cushion — thanks.  And 
there  was  another  little  one.  Constance  is  leaning  on 
it  ?  Oh,  I  didn't  see,"  says  Mrs.  Thayer,  sweetly. 

"  Oh,  take  it,  Fanny.  Lione  will  do  for  a  pillow 
quite  as  well,"  the  girl  answers,  laughing ;  and,  as  she 
speaks,  the  dragoman  appears  majestically  smoking  a 
chibouque^  and  asks  for  a  few  words  with  Miss  Varley. 

There  is  a  moment's  consultation,  and  then  they  see 


ON  THE  HOUSE-TOP.  103 

Constance  walking  hurriedly  away  in  the  direction  of 
the  kitchen-tent.  Presently  Luigi  comes  running  back 
to  fetch  a  box. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  Fanny  asks,  with  languid  interest. 

"  My  lady  want  her  medicine,  lady.  One  man  very 
bad  hurt,"  says  Luigi,  with  the  box  under  his  arm. 

It  was  so  like  Constance!  She  was  always  doing 
these  ridiculous  things.  It  was  just  the  same  way  on 
the  Nile  ;  they  used  to  come  to  her  if  any  one  scratched 
his  finger. 

"  As  for  me,  I  told  Hassan  from  the  very  first  I  was 
not  to  be  disturbed  about  the  men's  accidents.  My 
nerves  will  not  bear  it.  It  is  a  question  of  health  with 
me,"  says  Fanny. 

"It  is  a  question  of  health  —  other  people's  health  — 
with  Constance,"  Major  Thayer  remarks,  placidly. 

"  Oh,  Constance  has  always  had  a  mania  for  sacri 
ficing  herself.  It  was  exactly  the  same  way  at  school. 
They  used  to  call  her  Don  Quixote ;  she  had  such 
ridiculous  fancies  about  things,  not  a  bit  like  the  other 
girls.  She  was  almost  the  youngest  there  ;  but  I  think 
they  were  all  a  little  afraid  of  her,  all  except  me.  Con 
stance  can  be  very  severe  over  any  thing  she  thinks  dis 
honorable  ;  and  proud  —  proud  as  Lucifer  —  if  you  take 
her  the  wrong  way.  But  I  always  knew  how  to  manage 
her.  There  is  nothing  she  would  not  do  for  me,"  said 
Fanny,  complacently.  She  settled  herself  more  com 
fortably  back  in  her  chair,  and  glanced  round  at  Jack. 
"  Do  call  that  dog  away.  I  can't  endure  to  have  him 
touch  me,"  she  said. 

"Were  you  —  come  here,  Lionel  —  were  you  long  at 
school  with  Constance  ?  "  says  Mr.  Stuart,  bending  down 
to  examine  the  dog's  collar. 

"  Always.  That  is  —  I  left  before  she  did,  of  course  ; 
but  we  have  been  together  since  we  were  babies.  You 
know  Captain  Varley  was  my  guardian.  I  remember," 
said  Mrs.  Thayer,  pensively,  "  I  remember  the  last  term 
before  I  left  school  for  good,"  with  a  glance  at  the 
Major ;  "  there  was  a  girl  we  all  hated :  Walker  her 


104  MIRAGE. 

name  was  —  Mary  Walker.  I  think  she  was  a  cousin 
or  something  of  the  principal,  and  they  had  her  there 
for  charity.  She  was  an  ugly,  shabby  little  creature, 
anyhow,  and  we  none  of  us  would  speak  to  her.  She 
was  in  training  to  be  a  governess  —  reading  for  a  French 
prize  —  we  could  not  understand  how  it  was  she  took  so 
many  honors,  for  she  was  a  very  stupid  girl,  until  one 
day,  quite  by  accident,  Constance  saw  her  copying  her 
exercises  out  of  some  old  book.  It  was  Constance's 
own  work,  I  believe  ;  something  she  had  done  for  her 
amusement.  That  was  one  of  the  queerest  things 
about  Constance ;  she  absolutely  studied,  to  arouse 
herself  —  " 

"  Well  ? "  said  Mr.  Stuart.  It  may  be  he  too  was 
wondering  in  a  simple  way  over  this  last  announce 
ment. 

"  Well !  the  end  of  it  was  very  characteristic,  cer 
tainly.  First,  she  made  the  Walker  girl  swear  she  would 
abandon  her  evil  courses  —  as  though  that  were  likely! 
but  Constance  is  so  credulous.  And  then  she  stayed 
over  Christmas  week  in  town  —  you  remember  that 
Christmas  week  at  Aunt  Van's,  Tom  ?  —  she  stays  over 
all  through  the  Christmas  holidays  to  coach  that  wretched 
creature  through  her  grammar.  She  got  her  diploma, 
I  know,  and  after  that  they  gave  her  a  salary,  and  her 
aunt  made  more  of  her.  But  I  don't  think  she  ever 
thanked  Constance." 

"  Don't  you  think  it  is  time  some  one  went  to  see 
what  has  become  of  Miss  Varley  ? "  said  Jack,  and  went 
out  without  waiting  for  an  answer. 

It  had  grown  dark  meanwhile.  There  was  a  leaping 
fire  in  front  of  the  kitchen-tent ;  a  circle  of  muleteers 
stood  around  it,  their  shadows  stirring  curiously  upon 
the  canvas  wall  at  every  motion  of  the  wind-blown 
flames.  The  young  man  sauntered  up  to  the  group, 
and  looked  in.  Miss  Varley  was  kneeling  upon  the 
ground ;  Hassan  was  standing  near  her  holding  a  lighted 
torch.  She  had  pushed  the  sleeve  of  her  habit  back 
over  her  white  arm  ;  there  was  a  sponge  and  a  basin  of 


ON  THE  HOUSE-TOP.  105 

water  by  her  side.  As  Jack  drew  near,  she  was  already 
binding  up  the  injured  foot  with  a  firm,  dexterous  touch. 

"  Ask  him  if  that  feels  more  comfortable,  Hassan," 
she  said.  "  If  it  does  not  feel  more  comfortable,  I  will 
do  it  all  over  again."  She  looked  up  at  her  patient  with 
the  sweetest,  the  most  compassionate  smile. 

"  Tdib,  Abdallah  ?  " 

"  Taib,  ketir  /"  said  the  man,  with  a  quick  lighting  up 
of  the  wrinkled,  anxious  face. 

A  broad,  white  smile  flashed  responsively  around  the 
dusky  ring  of  lookers-on. 

"That  Bedawy  — the  one  with  the  child  —  is  to  have 
some  of  that  ointment  to  rub  on  his  shoulder,  Hassan," 
said  Miss  Varley,  getting  up  to  her  feet  and  pulling  down 
her  sleeve.  And  then,  for  the  first  time,  she  was  aware 
of  Stuart. 

"What  was  the  matter?" 

"  Oh,  it  was  only  that  unlucky  old  Abdallah.  He  is 
always  getting  hurt.  This  time  a  mule  stepped  on  his 
foot.  I  hope  Hassan  will  remember  not  to  make  him 
walk  to-morrow.  I  must  get  up  early  and  see  about  it 
before  the  train  starts  off,"  she  said  thoughtfully.  And 
then,  after  a  moment's  pause  :  "  Considering  that  I  never 
tied  up  as  much  as  a  cut  finger  before  we  went  to  Egypt, 
and  that  I  have  unlimited  control  of  Fanny's  medicine- 
chest,  don't  you  think  I  ought  to  be  congratulated  that 
so  many  of  my  patients  escape  with  their  lives,  Mr. 
Stuart  ? "  she  added,  laughing. 

"  I  think  that  you  are  an  angel  of  goodness  —  to 
everybody  but  me,"  said  Jack. 

They  had  adopted  very  early  hours  here  in  Syria. 
Breakfast  was  on  the  table  punctually  at  six  o'clock, 
and  as  a  usual  thing  the  lights  were  all  out  in  the  tents 
long  before  ten.  But  that  night  Miss  Varley  chose  to 
sit  up  later.  Long  after  the  camp  had  settled  into 
darkness,  a  feeble  glimmer  shone  beneath  her  door. 
She  had  taken  a  key  from  about  her  neck,  had  opened 
her  box,  and  was  sitting  before  the  table,  reading.  It 
was  a  manuscript  volume  —  a  journal  evidently  —  with 


106  MIRAGE. 

57"    •" 

here  and  there  some  loose  papers,  some  verses,  a  pho 
tograph,  a  half-finished  sketch,  thrust  in  between  its 
leaves.  At  first,  Miss  Varley  had  written  a  few  words 
in  it  ;  now  she  sat  turning  over  the  pages,  looking  at  the 
dates.  The  earliest  of  them  was  of  three  years  before, 
the  latest  was  of  yesterday,  and  on  every  page  some 
words  were  constantly  repeated.  Once,  after  a  long 
pause,  during  which  she  had  sat  so  motionless  you  might 
have  believed  her  sleeping,  Miss  Varley  repeated  these 
words  aloud.  The  wind  rustled  at  the  door  of  her  tent, 
and  the  girl  started  up,  her  heart  beating,  the  color  com 
ing  and  going  in  her  cheeks  ;  and  yet  there  had  been 
nothing  to  frighten  her  in  what  she  said.  After  a*ll,  it 
was  only  a  name  —  the  name  of  Denis  Lawrence. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

SOME   GOOD   SAMARITANS. 

ONE  long,  unbroken  sweep  of  wheat-fields  stretched 
past  and  around  them.  The  foot  of  the  hills  was 
thickly  overgrown  with  olives,  circling,  a  silvery  gray 
cloud,  about  the  stones.  Higher  up,  the  fig-trees  twisted 
their  quaint  leafless  branches  in  a  network  of  pale  pur 
ple  against  the  sky,  or  rested,  a  violet  smoke,  in  the 
crevices  and  fissures  of  the  rock ;  and  from  mountain  to 
mountain  the  valley  flowed  one  wave  of  living  green. 
The  sky  was  of  a  pale  and  cloudless  blue,  still  tremulous, 
still  quivering  with  the  spent  passion  of  the  storm  ;  and 
spring,  that  "child  of  many  winds,"  was  in  the  air,  and  all 
the  world  was  filled  with  a  sweet,  faint  perfume  as  of  a 
hundred  growing  things  ;  a  low  melodious  calling  of 
bird-voices;  the  languid  whisper  of  the  breeze,  running 
in  green-white  waves  across  the  rustling  sea  of  wheat. 
They  were  riding  across  one  of  the  fairest  plains  in 
Palestine  —  across  that  parcel  of  ground  that  Jacob 


SOME  GOOD  SAMARITANS.  IO/ 

bought;  where  Joseph  wandered,  looking  for  his  breth 
ren  ;  across  the  valley  where  Joshua  proclaimed  the 
Law ;  and  on  and  on  across  the  sun-filled  land,  to  the 
margin  of  that  wayside  well  where  Jesus  rested,  being 
wearied  with  his  journey,  and  spake  with  the  woman  of 
Samaria. 

I  clo  not  know  how  it  happened  that,  as  they  rode 
along,  the  conversation  fell  upon  the  strange  history  of 
Simon  Magus.  Perhaps  it  was  that  Major  Thayer  had 
been  reading  about  him  of  late.  It  may  be  Miss  Varley 
had  her  own  reasons  for  preferring  to  speak  of  some  im 
personal  matter.  But  surely  there  must  be  something 
fascinating  to  the  meagrest  imagination  in  the  story  of 
this  Samaritan  fanatic  ;  this  mystic  propounder  of  Egyp 
tian  myth  and  Jewish  doctrine  ;  this  dreamer  of  dreams 

—  a  prophet  bewildered  by  weak  echoes  of  the  large  ut 
terance  of  the  early  gods  ;  this  false  Christ ;  "  the  Osiris 
of  a  known  age  —  a  Jupiter  within  our  era;"  this  Syrian 
peasant  to  whom  a  column  was  erected  in  far-off  Rome 

—  Simoni  Deo  Sancto ;  this  forerunner  of  Comte,  wor 
shipping  the  divine  idea  in  the  guise  of  a  woman ;  this 
visionary,  wise  with  strange  wisdom  of  the  East ;  this 
impostor,  performing  daily  miracles,  "to  whom  they  all 
gave  heed,  in  the  city,  from  the  least  to  the  greatest." 

There  was,  I  say,  something  singularly  interesting  in 
this  history  listened  to  here  under  the  very  shadow  of 
the  Mount  of  Blessing ;  and  so  it  came  to  pass  that  all 
through  the  long  sunny  morning  Constance  and  the 
Major  rode  apart. 

But  it  was  still  early  in  the  afternoon  as  they  passed 
the  first  houses  of  that  ancient  city,  Shechem  —  the 
modern  Nablous  —  the  city  of  running  streams,  and  blos 
som-burdened  gardens,  and  sombre,  tunnelled  streets. 

As  they  drew  up  before  the  door  of  the  tents  they 
heard  a  discharge  of  firearms;  a  company  of  Turkish, 
horsemen  were  turning  slowly  away.  It  was  the  gover 
nor  and  his  escort,  Hassan  informed  them  in  an  import 
ant  whisper. 

"  Governor  very  strong  man  here,  sir.     I  tell  him  you 


IOS  MIRAGE. 

one  big  general,  make  him  afraid.  P'raps,  I  not  tell  him 
so  !  Do  something  not  please  him,  he  take  away  one,  two, 
three,  my  men." 

"  Nice  kind  of  person  that,"  said  Mr.  Stuart,  lazily. 

"Yes,  sir;  very  big  man,  sir.  Very  bad  man.  I 
do  him  honor.  Wish  I  had  more  guns  ;  I  fire  another 
salute." 

"  Here,  take  my  revolver,"  says  Jack,  good-naturedly. 
He  drew  his  pistol  out  of  his  belt  and  passed  it  over  to 
the  dragoman. 

"Oh,  Jack,  how  could  you!  Think  of  the  horrible 
noise  ! " 

"What!  does  it  really  go  off?  Do  you  know  I  am 
rather  surprised  at  that.  I  thought  it  was  an  ornament," 
says  Constance,  smiling. 

The  young  man  turned  rather  red.  "  We  can't  all  be 
Mr.  Lawrences,"  he  said,  drily;  and  this  time  it  was 
Miss  Varley's  turn  to  blush. 

After  lunch  they  sallied  out  to  inspect  the  city.  And 
here  again  Miss  Varley  walked  off  with  Tom,  leaving 
the  other  two  to  follow  at  their  leisure. 

They  followed  on  for  the  most  part  in  silence.  Was 
any  thing  the  matter?  Had  he  offended  her?  Was  it 
possible  that  she  did  not  understand  —  The  young 
fellow,  stalking  gloomily  along,  revolving  these  and 
kindred  questions  in  his  mind,  must  surely  have  been 
but  a  sorry  companion.  And  yet  —  Mrs.  Thayer  did 
not  seemed  displeased. 

At  first  they  went  to  Jacob's  house,  the  house  where 
the  father  mourned  for  his  son  many  days  and  refused 
to  be  comforted.  They  pushed  open  the  creaking  gate 
and  passed  from  out  the  noisy  street  into  an  old  and 
silent  garden  —  an  up-springing  wilderness  of  rose 
bushes  and  oranges,  with  here  and  there  a  mossy  peach- 
tree  thrusting  a  branch  of  pale  pink  blossoms  across  the 
narrow  path.  On  one  side  stood  the  so-called  house  — 
an  old  church  of  the  time  of  the  Crusaders,  but  with  a 
Saracenic  arch  apparently  of  much  earlier  date ;  now  it 
is  used  as  a  manufactory  of  clay  jars.  They  went  in 


SOME  GOOD  SAMARITANS.  109 

and  looked  about  the  deserted  enclosure.  The  workmen 
had  all  gone  home.  The  place  was  quite  empty  but  for 
the  rows  upon  rows  of  brown,  unbaked  jars. 

"  It  reminds  me  of  a  burlesque  I  saw  once,  '  Ali  Baba 
and  the  Forty  Thieves.'  What  a  capital  place  for  a 
ballet !  "  says  Jack. 

Miss  Constance  laughs  :  "  Poor  Jacob  !  " 

They  go  out.  At  the  farther  end  of  the  garden  they 
come  upon  a  dark,  shadowy  pool.  A  single  ray  of  sun 
light  pierces  the  glossy  green  of  the  orange-trees  that 
lean  from  the  terrace  overhead  and  catches  on  a  fringe 
of  delicate  grasses  and  rank,  pale  flowers.  Beside  it  two 
gnarled  and  aged  cacti  stand  sentinel  by  the  worn  old 
gateway  leading  through  another  garden  to  the  square, 
ruined  tower  of  a  mosque.  Its  gray  time-eaten  stones 
are  in  full  sunlight,  high-lifted  above  the  trees ;  here 
and  there  a  tuft  of  fern,  a  waving  tuft  of  yellow  wall 
flowers,  makes  a  spot  of  color  on  its  wind-and-rain 
blanched  surface.  There  is  a  still,  sunny  silence  brood 
ing  like  a  charm  over  all  the  abandoned  spot. 

It  was  like  the  entrance  to  some  enchanted  castle, 
Miss  Varley  remarked,  absently.  Had  Fanny — had 
Mr.  Stuart  —  observed  those  cacti  ?  "  The  cactus  is  a 
plant  that  always  looks  to  me  both  deaf  and  dumb. 
And  those  fig-trees  up  there,  by  the  wall,  with  their  dark 
purplish  twigs  carved  like  fingers,  and  their  leaves  like 
open  hands  —  is  there  not  something  uncanny  to  you 
about  a  fig-tree  ?  I  saw  some  to-day,  as  we  rode  along, 
with  such  intricate  tracery  of  branches  they  might  almost 
have  suggested  the  Saracenic  idea  of  ornamentation  by 
lines." 

"  I  don't  know  ;  I  never  studied  botany,"  said  Mr. 
Stuart. 

Once  more  they  followed  their  guide  down  the  long, 
dark  street,  arched  tunnel-wise  above  their  heads  ;  pick 
ing  their  way  over  slippery,  jagged  stones  ;  growing  sud 
denly  aware  of  the  tumult  of  hidden  streams,  and  turning 
a  sharp  corner  to  come  suddenly  out  of  the  gloom  and 
darkness  to  where  a  glorious  rush  of  water  leaped  wildly 


HO  MIRAGE. 

over  the  edge  of  a  ruined  archway,  and  fell  in  dazzling 
mist  in  the  brimming  basin  at  their  feet.  Green  masses 
of  clinging  fern,  and  starry  blooms,  and  cool  pale  water- 
flowers  hung  down  in  lovely  profusion,  glistening  with 
moisture,  and  trembling  with  the  movement  of  the  fall  ; 
and  looking  through  the  archway,  and  through  the  won 
derfully  clear  water,  they  could  catch  glimpses  of  a 
sunny  lawn  and  trees  waving  in  the  wind. 

A  little  farther  on  they  came  upon  the  church  of  the 
Samaritans. 

"  We  go  in  to  see  the  synagogue,  of  course  ?  "  said  the 
Major. 

It  was  a  bare  upper-chamber  ;  a  white-washed  room, 
with  curiously-shaped  lamps  swinging  from  the  vaulted 
ceiling.  At  one  end  a  white  sheet  was  drawn  before 
the  Holy  of  Holies.  The  high-priest  —  a  young  man 
with  a  grave,  fervent  face,  the  face  of  a  dreamer  and  an 
enthusiast :  beautiful,  ardent,  impassioned,  like  the  face 
of  the  boy  David  —  the  high-priest  drew  back  the  cur 
tain,  and  brought  out  and  showed  them  the  famous 
manuscript  copy  of  the  Pentateuch. 

It  was  a  curious  scene  :  the  little  group  of  sceptical 
strangers,  the  roll  of  tattered  vellum,  the  noble  rever 
ence  of  the  priest  bending  over  it,  the  three  or  four  slim 
Syrian  lads  lounging  in  the  sunny  doorway,  the  small, 
mean  room,  the  high  place  and  the  altar  of  that  strange, 
forgotten  people  who  feared  the  Lord  and  worshipped 
their  own  gods. 

As  they  come  out  into  the  street  once  more  the  party 
is  again  divided.  Mrs.  Thayer  wishes  to  return  to  the 
tents. 

"  Tom  will  take  me  there.  You  can  go  to  the  bazaar 
with  Constance,"  she  said. 

Mr.  Stuart  was  entirely  at  Miss  Varley's  service. 

"  I  think  I  shall  go  back  with  Fanny,"  that  young 
lady  remarks. 

"  Nonsense  ! " 

"  But,  indeed,  Fanny  —  " 

"  Go  on  with  Jack,  and  wait  for  me  in   the  bazaar. 


SOME  GOOD  SAMARITANS.  Ill 

I  '11  join  you  presently  with  Hassan.  I  'm  going  to  make 
a  sketch,"  the  Major  says  decidedly.  And  with  this 
understanding  they  part. 

It  was  an  embarrassing  moment  for  them  both  — the 
more  so,  perhaps,  that  neither  was  quite  sure  what  had 
occasioned  this  change.  .  Of  the  two  there  was  one  who 
would  have  given  much  to  have  escaped  the  necessity  of 
any  interview.  Naturally  enough,  this  one  was  the  first 
to  speak. 

"  I  am  afraid  we  have  been  very  selfish,  Tom  and  I," 
she  says,  with  a  slight  increase  of  color  on  her  cheeks  \ 
"  Fanny  seems  so  tired.  But  these  people  are  inter 
esting.  I  think  this  is  a  delightful  place  —  don't 
you  ?  " 

"I  think  so  —  now,"  says  Mr.  Stuart. 

Some  men  passing  along  the  road  turn  again  to  stare 
at  the  strangers,  and  Mr.  Stuart  returns  their  glances 
with  a  little  of  that  abounding  contempt  we  instinctively 
exhibit  towards  people  who,  in  all  probability,  will  never 
be  in  any  fashion  connected  with  ourselves. 

"  It  is  so  seldom  Tom  can  be  got  to  talk.  Tom  is 
something  like  an  Englishman  in  that  respect.  Did  you 
never  notice  how  an  American  will  invariably  endeavor 
to  be  interesting  at  any  cost  —  either  to  others  or  to 
himself  ?  Now  an  Englishman  has  the  courage  to  be 
dull." 

"  Some  of  us  are  dull  enough  without  that,"  says  Jack, 
moodily. 

The  Arabs  are  still  standing  watching  him.  They 
whisper  together.  As  the  young  man  brushes  by  them 
there  is  a  hoarse  cry  of  "  Backshish  !  "  and  then  an 
insolent  laugh.  It  is  only  a  trifling  annoyance,  but  it 
comes  charged  with  the  weight  of  the  morning's  exas 
peration,  and  sends  the  hot  blood  flushing  to  his  fore 
head.  He  turns  upon  Constance  with  that  sudden, 
irrational  resentment  of  an  unpleasant  impression  which 
is,  perhaps,  at  the  bottom  of  half  the  follies  of  life. 

"  Don't  you  think  these  small  travelling-parties  are  a 
mistake?  "  he  says,  with  an  air  of  elaborate  impartiality. 


112  MIRAGE. 

"  One  sees  the  same  people  so  continuously  that —  in 
fact,  you  see  the  same  people  so  much." 

Miss  Varley  is  entirely  of  his  opinion.  She  says 
so,  and  then  bends  down  and  busies  herself  with 
the  folds  of  her  habit  to  conceal  a  most  unequivocal 
smile. 

"  Yes,  I  am  tired  of  it,"  says  Mr.  Stuart. 

"  Indeed  ! " 

"  I  am  tired  of  the  whole  thing.  You  treat  me  like  a 
boy.  You  laugh  at  me.  You  —  you  attempt  to  —  to 
patronize  me,  by  Jove  !  "  cries  the  young  man,  turning 
very  red.  "  I  don't  like  it.  I  don't  think  you  are  treat 
ing  me  fairly,  Constance,"  he  says,  with  sudden'. firm 
ness,  with  an  assertion  of  mastery  in  his  voice  that  she 
has  never  heard  before. 

Miss  Varley  draws  herself  up  and  turns  her  face  full 
upon  him,  and  all  the  light  and  animation  have  gone 
out  of  that  face. 

"  You  are  probably  not  aware  of  what  you  are  saying. 
You  will  excuse  me  if  I  fail  to  understand  — "  she 
begins  very  coldly  ;  and  then  there  comes  a  sudden  look 
of  kindness  in  her  eyes.  "  What  is  the  use  of  quarrelling, 
Jack  ?  You  know  you  are  talking  nonsense.  When 
have  I  ever  done  any  thing  purposely  to  vex  you  ?  "  she 
says  very  gently. 

A  group  of  fair-haired  Nablous  children  are  standing 
in  a  doorway.  At  the  sight  of  the  strange  faces  ap 
proaching  them  they  dart  away  like  frightened  birds,  all 
but  one,  a  little  boy  of  two  or  three,  who  stands  in  the 
middle  of  the  street  and  contemplates  them  meditatively. 
Such  a  flower-face  as  it  is  !  with  the  beautiful,  open  look 
of  a  peach-blossom  overblown.  "  Come  here,  you  de 
lightful  little  creature,  and  get  some  backshish,"  says 
Miss  Varley,  and  holds  up  a  tempting  silver  coin.  There 
is  a  moment's  hesitation,  and  then  the  baby  comes  for 
ward  a  few  steps,  stops,  stares  about  him.  "  Poor  little 
thing !  "  says  Constance,  and  stoops  to  pick  him  up. 
To  her  surprise  the  child  resists  her  with  sudden,  shrill 
cries  of  alarm. 


SOME  GOOD  SAMARITANS.  113 

"  Oh,  put  him  down,  do  !  "  says  Jack,  hastily.  There 
is  quite  a  crowd  around  them  by  this  time. 

"  Poor  little  thing !  You  don't  suppose  it  was  afraid 
I  had  the  evil  eye  ? "  begins  the  girl  ;  and  at  the  same 
moment  a  woman,  veiled  and  shapeless  in  her  cotton 
gown,  breaks  through  the  ring,  seizes  the  sobbing  child 
in  her  arms,  and  turns  and  addresses  the  crowd  in  high- 
pitched  Arabic. 

"  Come  on  !  "  says  Mr.  Stuart  again,  and  this  time 
with  even  stronger  emphasis.  "  Let  that  little  wretch 
alone  ;  it  doesn't  want  your  money.  Here,  let 's  get  out 
of  this." 

But  this  is  not  so  easily  done.  It  is  true  the  crowd 
parts  before  them,  but  only  to  close  about  on  every  side. 
"  Backshish  !  "  yells  a  tall,  one-eyed  lad  in  a  tattered 
gown,  who  has  followed  them  persistently  since  they 
entered  the  bazaar.  "  Backshish  !  "  calls  out  a  man, 
putting  a  hand  on  Miss  Varley's  shoulder  and  stooping 
to  look  into  her  face.  "  Back  — "  A  vigorous  push 
sends  him  staggering  against  the  wall. 

"  Take  my  arm  ;  don't  be  frightened,"  says  Jack, 
cheerfully.  "  If  we  can  only  get  through  this  infernal 
bazaar — "  A  shove  from  the  yellow  fanatic  on  the 
outside  of  the  ring  sends  the  nearest  beggar  upon  him. 
He  turns,  and  a  shove  from  the  other  side  flings  Con 
stance  against  his  shoulder.  No  sound  ;  but  the  double 
movement  meant  mischief. 

"  Oh,  what  shall  we  do?"  says  Miss  Varley,  turning 
pale. 

To  her  dying  day  she  will  never  forget  what  takes 
place  within  the  next  few  minutes. 

He  took  her  hands  in  his ;  he  looked  at  her  with  a 
sort  of  despairing  tenderness. 

"  Don't  be  frightened,"  he  says  ;  "there  is  going  to  be 
a  row.  Here,  stand  back  under  that  arch,  and  don't 
move,  whatever  happens.  Don't  be  frightened,  and  don't 
cry.  Don't  cry,  my  darling,  I  '11  take  care  of  you." 

As  luck  will  have  it,  the  arch  of  which  he  speaks  is 
the  gaudy-painted  doorway  of  the  mosque.  A  savage 

8 


114  MIRAGE. 

howl  of  execration  runs  through  the  crowd  at  sight  of 
this  new  outrage.  They  press  forward,  stop,  waver ; 
and  then  Jack  turns  and  faces  them  and  draws  his 
pistol  from  his  belt. 

"  Come  on,  then  !  Why  don't  you  come  on,  you 
blackguards ! "  he  calls  out,  in  English  ;  and,  as  by  the 
breaking  of  a  spell,  the  sound  of  his  voice  evokes  a  very 
storm  of  frenzy  and  abuse.  With  every  moment  the 
tumult  increases.  A  piece  of  mud  knocks  off  his  hat ; 
in  an  instant  it  is  seized  and  torn  to  shreds ;  and  the 
sight  of  his  blonde,  Saxon  face  is  the  signal  for  a  new 
outbreak  of  impotent  rage.  Twice  already  the  jeering, 
hissing  mass  of  infuriated  men  has  pushed  and  swayed 
up  to  the  very  limit  of  the  steps,  and  twice  the  sight  of 
his  steady,  unblenching  face  has  swept  them  back  again 
with  a  sound  as  of  the  surf  grinding  upon  the  shore. 
And  each  time  they  have  lessened  the  distance  between 
them. 

He  took  three  steps  forward,  paused,  then  deliber 
ately  drew  a  deep  line  with  the  heel  of  his  boot  in  the 
dust.  "We  '11  see  who  crosses  that,  my  men  !  "  he  says, 
significantly.  A  long  howl  of  defiance  is  the  instant 
answer.  And  now,  with  one  common  impulse,  the  mob 
hurls  itself  forward  and  stands  straining  and  foaming 
like  a  pack  of  craven,  white-toothed  pariah  dogs  on  the 
farther  side  of  the  barrier. 

"  Don't  be  frightened,  my  darling,"  says  Jack ;  his 
own  face  is  deathly  pale,  and  great  beads  of  moisture 
are  standing  on  his  forehead. 

There  is  a  scuffle,  a  push  ;  one  of  the  foremost  as 
sailants,  a  half-grown  lad  in  a  long,  blue  caftan,  is  sent 
staggering  across  the  mark  :  he  falls  heavily  on  his  face 
and  is  dragged  back  by  his  nearest  neighbors.  And 
then  comes  an  ominous  pause.  • 

From  his  vantage-ground  on  the  mosque-steps  Stuart 
overlooks  the  street ;  and  at  this  moment  he  is  aware 
of  a  disturbance  in  the  spirit  of  the  mob  —  some  new 
object  is  drawing  their  attention.  There  is  a  cry  of 
"  Allah  !  "  the  sound  of  a  low,  wailing,  inarticulate  chant, 


SOME  GOOD  SAMARITANS.  1 15 

a  sudden  falling  asunder  of  the  close-packed  men  ;  in 
the  centre  of  this  space,  advancing  slowly  towards  him, 
is  a  creature  —  a  man.  It  has  the  figure  of  a  man  — 
but  whether  young  or  old  it  is  impossible  to  say.  A 
strip  of  sheepskin  is  slung  about  its  waist,  a  long  string 
of  coarse  amulets  dangles  from  its  neck  and  down  upon 
the  naked  breast,  covered  with  hair  like  the  breast  of 
an  animal.  On  his  head  is  a  fantastic  crown  of  iron 
spikes,  from  under  which  long  and  matted  locks  stream 
down  over  his  thick  arms,  his  naked,  shining  shoulders, 
his  fixed  and  vacant  eyes.  He  comes  slowly  forward, 
rolling  from  side  to  side  in  his  walk,  keeping  time  to  the 
monotonous,  lolling  chant.  The  crowd  have  fallen  re 
spectfully  back,  he  stands  alone  in  the  centre  of  an  open 
space,  looking  at  Stuart  with  a  dull,  malignant  smile. 

"  My  God  !  what  shall  I  do  ?  "  thought  Stuart,  clench 
ing  his  teeth.  He  moves,  and  the  dervish  catches  sight 
of  Constance.  A  sudden,  furious  gleam  of  insanity 
transfigures  the  livid  face.  He  turns,  with  a  wild  gesture 
of  exhortation  —  he  turns  and  harangues  the  mob.  He 
turns  again  —  he  walks  deliberately  forward.  Jack 
raises  the  revolver  slowly  to  a  level. 

And  then  a  murderous  silence  falls  upon  the  crowd. 
The  dervish  comes  steadily  forward  ;  his  foot  is  on  the 
line  ;  he  looks  up  at  Stuart  with  an  idiotic  laugh,  and 
then,  like  a  mockery  from  heaven,  they  hear  through  the 
intense  silence  the  innocent,  bubbling  laughter  of  a  child. 

The  dervish  passes  the  line.  Constance  springs  for 
ward  with  a  cry.  The  next  sound  is  the  click  of  the 
trigger  settling  back  in  its  lock. 


Il6  All  RAGE. 


CHAPTER   X. 

BLUE   LILIES. 

"  TACK  !  "  She  springs  forward  and  clutches  him  by 
*J  the  arm.  "Don't  fire!  Hassan  !"  she  says  wildly, 
with  white,  breathless  lips  ;  "  Hassan  —  Hassan  —  " 

And  even  as  she  speaks  there  is  a  clattering  charge  of 
mounted  men,  a  swinging  of  sabres,  a  slashing  of  whips, 
a  cheer.  The  surging  mob  sweeps  back  against  the 
steps.  In  a  moment  the  dervish  is  seized,  surrounded, 
forced  bodily  into  the  shelter  of  the  mosque.  Major 
Thayer  springs  from  his  saddle.  The  Turkish  soldiers 
clear  the  piazza  of  the  last  terrified  stragglers.  The 
dragoman  rushes  forward  flourishing  his  koorbash. 

"  Thank  God  ! "  says  Stuart,  seizing  Constance  by 
the  hand.  And  then,  for  the  first  time,  Miss  Varley 
breaks  down. 

"  Take  me  home  —  take  me  home,  Tom,  to  Fanny," 
she  says  piteously. 

"  Will  you  ride  ?  " 

"  No  ;  I  don't  know :  take  me  home,"  she  says,  and 
walks  on  blindly,  clinging  to  his  arm,  the  centre  of  an 
excited,  questioning,  explaining  group. 

In  three  or  four  minutes  they  have  reached  the  camp. 
As  they  enter  the  tent  Miss  Varley  turns  to  Stuart : 

"  I  haven't  thanked  you.  But  —  you  know,"  she  says 
brokenly.  She  gives  him  both  her  hands.  Then  she 
sits  down  on  a  chair  in  a  corner  and  begins  to  cry. 

Mr.  Stuart,  too,  sits  down.  He  looks  about  him  with 
a  bewildered  air. 

"Good  heavens  !  Jack,  are  you  hurt?  Will  you  have 
some  brandy?  some  water?  Your  face  is  as  white  as  a 
sheet !  O  Tom,  why  don't  you  do  something  ?  Don't 
you  see  that  Jack  —  " 


BLUE  LILIES.  1 17 


"  I  'm  not  hurt,  Fanny.  I  've  been  badly  frightened. 
I  never  knew  what  it  was  like  before,"  says  Mr.  Stuart, 
simply  ;  "  but  I  had  Constance  to  take  care  of,  you  know, 
and —  Look  here  !" 

He  threw  his  revolver  down  upon  the  table.  Major 
Thayer  picks  it  up  curiously,  examines  it,  starts,  and 
throws  it  down  again  with  an  oath. 

"  I  let  Hassan  have  it  for  that  salute.  I  had  forgotten 
all  about  it.  You  see  —  it  wasn't  loaded  !  "  says  Jack. 

The  following  afternoon  found  them  still  at  Nablous. 
Fanny  did  not  feel  well,  for  one  thing  ;  her  nerves  had 
not  yet  recovered  from  yesterday's  excitement.  Then 
Abdallah's  foot  was  no  better,  a  horse  had  gone  lame, 
the  head-muleteer  had  a  wife  in  Shechem. 

"  In  fact,  the  more  I  hear  our  delay  explained,  the  less 
I  seem  to  understand  it,"  Major  Thayer  remarked,  testily. 

They  were  winding  up  Mount  Gerizim,  and  it  was  to 
Miss  Varley  he  spoke.  The  Major  had  all  that  aversion 
to  stopping  which  you  notice  in  unoccupied  people  — 
that  terror  of  a  pause,  which  is  so  suggestive  of  the 
anticipation  of  a  corresponding  vacuum.  And  just  now 
this  latest  annoyance  found  relief  in  a  proposition  pe 
culiarly  unacceptable  to  Constance,  for  : 

"  I  shall  stay  here  and  sketch.  Fanny  particularly 
wished  me  to  get  a  good,  sketch  of  Nablous.  And  I 
think  she  was  quite  right  in  advising  me  to  take  it  from 
half-way  up  the  hill,"  he  said. 

Miss  Varley  suggested  they  could  wait  and  all  ride  up 
together,  later.  Mr.  Stuart  thought  it  would  be  a  pity 
to  miss  the  sunset.  Hassan  was  of  opinion  the  horses 
needed  exercise.  Of  course  it  ended  in  their  going  on. 

It  was  a  sunny,  breezy  afternoon.  As  they  turned 
their  horses'  heads  towards  the  distant  mountain-top,  a 
cool  and  playful  air  blew  freshly  down  upon  them,  luring 
them  onward  to  the  wind-swept  freedom  of  those  heights. 
The  very  greyhound,  bounding  on  before,  seemed  in 
stinct  with  new  force  and  life,  making  wild  rushes  at 
elusive  birds,  flinging  his  supple,  golden-brown  body 
high  in  air,  in  frantic  efforts  to  make  will  take  the  place 


Il8  MIRAGE. 

*. ,  ~ 

of  wings,  or  pausing,  erect  and  quivering,  upon  some 
overhanging  rock  to  watch  their  slower  ascent.  They 
were  riding  across  a  strikingly  beautiful  country,  over 
both  sacred  and  historic  ground.  But  both  were  pre 
occupied,  and  both  were  unusually  silent. 

We  hear  so  much  of  woman's  power  of  intuition  — 
now  that  the  exemption  from  all  that  power  implies  is 
claimed — that  possibly  the  phrase  may  serve  once  more 
to  account  for  the  feeling  of  confused  apprehension  with 
which  Miss  Varley  looked  forward  to  the  conclusion  of 
this  ride.  Indeed,  she  had  hardly  recovered  as  yet  from 
the  excitement  and  suspense  of  yesterday.  Stuart's 
courage,  his  devotion,  the  simple  fashion  in  whidi  he 
had  accepted  her  thanks,  appealed,  each  in  its  different 
degree,  to  the  keenest  instincts  of  her  nature.  And 
liking,  admiration,  a  quick  responsive  generosity  —  that 
very  habit  of  thrusting  self  into  the  background  which 
was  so  characteristic  of  this  girl  —  were  ranged  upon 
his  side  ;  were  met,  were  answered  by  the  strong  in 
voluntary  recoil  with  which  she  shrank  from  admitting 
any  claim  —  the  slightest  —  which  could  modify  her 
sentiment  toward  Lawrence. 

"  He  will  never  know  what  I  gave  him ;  let  me  know 
that  I  gave  it  all !  "  was  her  inward  cry. 

There  was  a  bitter -satisfaction  in  the  very  complete 
ness  of  the  sacrifice.  But  now,  as  she  rode  on,  her  pre 
dominant  sensation  might  have  been  translated  into  an 
unreasonable  conviction  that  something  was  coming. 
And  it  came. 

The  afternoon  was  singularly  lovely.  When  they 
reached  the  mountain-summit  great  patches  of  cloud- 
shadow  were  resting  like  so  many  vaporous  islands  on 
the  broad,  billowy  sweep  of  the  plain.  On  one  side,  the 
blue  line  of  the  Moabite  mountains  melted  away  in  a 
dream  of  distant  horizons  ;  on  the  other,  the  wide  reach 
of  the  Mediterranean  curved  and  glittered  in  the  sun. 

Half-way  up,  after  they  had  left  the  Major,  even  after 
they  had  passed  the  gray  olive  groves  amidst  the  rocks, 
there  was  an  attempt  at  cultivation ;  but  here  were 


BLUE  LILIES.  119 


stones  —  nothing  but  stones  —  growing  larger  and  larger 
as  one  ascended,  until  the  ground  was  littered  with  rows 
upon  rows  of  square-hewn  blocks,  and  the  confusion 
culminated  in  a  ruined  building,  whose  small,  white  dome 
is  a  landmark  for  miles  across  the  plain. 

Here  they  left  the  horses.  A  few  steps  farther  on 
the  massive  Roman  wall  is  broken  into  windows.  Small 
knotted  fig-trees  thrust  their  weather-beaten  branches 
from  between  the  stones,  and  the  red  anemones,  bend 
ing  and  flickering  in  the  wind  like  thin,  blown  flames 
from  subterranean  fires,  added  a  touch  of  crimson  grace 
—  "  Love  settling  unawares." 

"  Those  trees  remind  me  of  certain  personalities," 
Miss  Varley  remarked,  glancing  round  her.  "  Do  you 
remember  old  Mr.  McMoon  ?  " 

"  The  old  Scotchman  at  Jerusalem,  who  admired  you 
so  much  ? " 

"  Yes.  That  is  —  I  don't  know  about  the  admiration. 
I  think  there  was  something  so  pathetic  about  the  poor 
old  fellow  —  old,  and  unsightly,  and  grimly  tenacious  of 
life,  like  one  of  those  trees.  Do  you  know  he  confided 
to  me  one  day,  when  we  were  all  out  on  the  roof,  that 
he  had  been  devoting  his  life  since  he  was  eighteen  to 
making  money,  and,  now  that  his  fortune  was  made, 
he  would  like  to  devote  his  money  to  getting  back  his 
life  ? " 

"  The  more  fool  he,"  said  Jack,  sententiously. 

"  Do  you  really  think  so  ?  He  always  seemed  to  me 
more  like  a  sermon  on  the  folly  of  telling  people  to  sub 
due  their  desires  while  they  are  young,  and  wait  for 
judgment  before  they  face  the  world.  Giving  him  the 
use  of  his  life  now  was  like  throwing  a  smoked  herring 
into  the  sea.  He  had  returned  to  his  native  element 
again  ;  but  after  a  trial  by  fire.  He  was  just  as  much 
of  a  fish  as  ever,  only —  he  couldn't  swim  !  " 

Mr.  Stuart  smiled.  It  pleased  him  to  fancy  that  Con 
stance  was  clever,  as  it  had  pleased  him,  a  week  before, 
to  hear  of  one  of  his  old  class-mates  having  distinguished 
himself  by  a  volume  of  translations  from  the  Greek. 


120  MIRAGE. 

The  cleverness,  in  his  comprehension  of  things,  bore, 
perhaps,  the  same  relation  to  real  life  as  the  dead  lan 
guage.  Both  were  distinctions  in  their  way,  and  neither 
prevented  a  pleasant  feeling  of  easy  superiority  on  the 
part  of  a  man  who  understood,  and  acted  upon,  the  facts 
of  existence. 

But,  just  now,  it  pleased  him  most  of  all  to  lean 
against  these  crumbling  ruins  and  watch  Miss  Varley's 
movements,  the  proud  and  gracious  pose  of  her  head, 
the  flush  of  color  on  her  cheek.  It  was  with  a  perfect, 
a  luxurious  sense  of  satisfaction  that  the  young  man 
lounged  by  her  side  in  the  broken  embrasure,  gazing 
idly  down  at  those  sunny  fields,  and  saw  his  future 
stretching  out  before  him,  cheerful,  and  sunny,  and 
secure  as  they.  A  premonition  of  approaching  happi 
ness —  not  of  content,  but  of  happiness,  full,  un 
measured,  incalculable  —  seemed  to  float  in  the  very 
air  around  him,  seemed  to  shine  and  dazzle  through  all 
the  sunlight  of  this  brilliant  day.  He  looked  up  at 
Constance  ;  he  looked  back  again  at  the  valley  ;  he 
smiled  ;  he  drew  a  long  breath  ;  he  hesitated.  It  was  a 
supreme  moment  in  his  life. 

"  I  don't  know  how  it  is,"  he  observed  presently  ; 
"  when  I  am  not  with  you  I  am  always  waiting  for  you, 
looking  for  you,  expecting  you.  I  feel  as  though  I  had 
something  of  the  utmost  importance  to  tell  you.  And 
when  you  are  there  —  " 

He  stopped  and  looked  up,  suddenly ;  then  turned 
away  and  began  thrusting  his  stick  between  the  crevices 
in  the  stones. 

"  That  is  one  of  the  many  disadvantages  of  a  small 
party,"  said  Constance,  demurely. 

"  You  know  I  never  meant  that !  " 

"  Indeed,  I  know  nothing  of  the  kind  !  I  've  a  very 
good  memory,  I  assure  you." 

"  I  should  like  to  think  you  remembered  something 
else  I  told  you  yesterday,"  said  Jack. 

Miss  Varley  blushed,  and  felt  herself  blushing. 

"  What  one  says  is  of  less  consequence.     I    never 


BLUE  LILIES.  121 

shall  forget  what  you  did.     Never.     I  shall  never  thank 
you  for  it,  because  —  " 

"I  don't  want  to  be  thanked.  I  would  do  any  thing 
for  you." 

kl  You  have  done  a  great  deal."  She  put  out  her 
hand,  and  picked  a  flower  growing  on  the  arch  above 
her  head.  "  I  think  we  had  better  be  going.  Tom  will 
be  waiting,"  she  said. 

"  Are  you  not  comfortable  where  you  are  ?  " 

"  Yes.     But  Tom  —  " 

"  Tom  be  hanged  !  You  are  always  in  such  a  hurry 
to  go,"  says  Jack,  reproachfully.  "  Now  I  —  I  am  differ 
ent.  And,  beside  that,  I  want  you  to  stay  here.  I 
want  to  talk  to  you.  Constance." 

"  Well  ? " 

"  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  something  about  yourself. 
You  always  speak  of  other  people — of  me.  It  is  not 
my  own  story  I  want  to  know,  it  is  yours.  Tell  me  —  " 

"  There  is  nothing  to  tell." 

"Nothing?" 

"  Nothing.  What  sort  of  a  story  could  I  have  ? 
What  do  I  ever  do,  what  have  I  ever  done  that  could 
interest  you  ? "  she  answered,  a  little  hurriedly.  "  I 
never  went  anywhere  until  we  came  here.  I  never  had 
an  adventure  in  my  life  until  yesterday.  I  could  give 
you  the  names  of  a  thousand  books  or  so  I  have  read  in 
the  last  three  years.  I  can't  tell  you  any  thing  else. 
And  if  I  did—" 

"  Well  ?     If  you  did  ?  " 

"  You  would  not  understand." 

"  Try  me,"  said  Jack,  eagerly. 

She  shook  her  head.  "  You  would  not  understand," 
she  said. 

And  I,  for  one,  am  inclined  to  believe  that  she  was 
right.  We  see  in  others  what  we  are  prepared  to  see  in 
them,  not  what  they  actually  represent.  The  difference 
between  these  two  people  was  a  difference  of  tempera 
ment,  of  aim,  of  quality,  of  a  hundred  irreconcilable 
things. 


122  MIRAGE. 

"IK.    •* 
Above  all,  it  was  a  difference  of  aim  ;  and  there  is, 

perhaps,  more  vital  separation  implied  in  this  difference 
of  desires  than  in  the  most  opposing  circumstance. 

But  of  this,  which  she  felt  vaguely,  he  was  quite 
unconscious.  He  never  imagined  for  a  moment  that  a 
woman's  opinions  were  less  open  to  modification  —  of 
more  importance  as  regarded  his  relation  to  her  —  than 
her  dress.  If  you  had  hinted  to  Mr.  Stuart  that  Con 
stance  might  object  to  marry  him  because  he  took  his 
idea  of  Browning  from  the  newspapers,  preferred  Mark 
Twain  to  Sophocles,  and  thought  the  Mona  Lisa  a  plain 
woman  with  a  high  forehead  —  not  half  so  pretty  as  "the 
photographs  of  half-a-dozen  girls  he  knew  —  well,«the 
probabilities  are  he  would  have  considered  you  mad. 

"  You  spoke  of  three  years  ago.  How  strange  it  is 
we  should  have  known  each  other  then.  I  had  seen 
you,  and  I  did  not  know  —  I  mean  —  who  could  have 
ever  imagined  we  should  be  here  to-day  together  as  — 
as  we  are." 

"  Three  years  !     It  is  a  long  time,"  said  Constance. 

"You  have  not  changed." 

"You  think  not  ?  " 

She  looked  away  down  into  the  sunlit  valley,  and  little 
by  little  the  light  faded  out  of  her  face. 

"  I  hare  changed,"  she  said  slowly.  She  twisted  the 
flower  she  held  between  her  fingers,  and  laid  its  blossom 
absently  against  her  lips.  "  I  have  changed." 

"  Yes,  so  have  I,"  said  the  young  man,  eagerly.  "  I 
know  now  —  what  I  didn't  know  then,  Constance."  He 
leaned  forward  a  little  and  took  her  hand  in  his.  She 
did  not  move  away,  but  her  fingers  grew  cold  and  trem 
bled,  and  she  kept  her  eyes  fixed  upon  her  lap.  "  Give 
me  that  flower,"  said  Jack. 

"  No." 

"  Constance !  " 

And  now  she  looked  up  and  saw  him  standing  before 
her  —  a  tall,  handsome  fellow,  his  face  all  aglow  with 
excitement  and  passionate  hope.  Her  eyes  dropped. 

"  You  will  give  me  that  flower  ?  " 


BLUE  LILIES.  123 


"  No,"  said  Constance  again. 

"  Look  at  me !  I  —  Look  at  me,  Constance, 
dearest!  Why  —  why  do  you  think  I  want  it?" 

Constance  did  not  answer. 

"  See  here  !  "  the  young  man  said,  impetuously.  He 
put  his  hand  in  his  breast-pocket ;  took  out  a  card-case. 
His  hand  shook  as  he  began  turning  over  its  leaves. 
"  Look  !  "  There  was  a  Syrian  lily  pressed  between  the 
pages.  "  Do  you  know  where  I  got  that  ?  You  gave 
it  to  me.  You  gave  it  to  me  on  the  way  to  Jericho.  I 
shall  never  forget  that  day.  It  was  the  first  time  — 
I  want  you  to  give  me  that  flower  because  —  I  love  you. 
I  love  you,  Constance  !  " 

"  No  ! "  Miss  Varley,  too,  had  risen  to  her  feet ;  she 
had  pushed  away  Lione's  head  ;  her  flowers  had  fallen 
to  the  ground.  And  now  she  lifted  up  her  face,  and 
looked  at  him  with  grave,  compassionate  eyes.  "  It  is 
impossible,"  she  said,  gently. 

"  Impossible,  Constance  ?     But  I  love  you  ! " 

"  Yes.  I  am  —  very  sorry,"  she  said.  Her  eyes 
were  full  of  tears. 

And  then  there  was  a  long  silence. 

"  Dear  Jack,"  the  girl  says  presently,  going  up  to  him 
and  laying  her  hand  upon  his  arm,  "  I  am  so  sorry.  If 
I  could  have  helped  it —  But  you — you  would  not 
understand." 

"  Do  you  think  I  did  not  ? "  he  answers  bitterly. 
"  Oh,  you  need  not  be  alarmed.  You  are  right  enough. 
I  am  not  going  to  blame  you.  It  is  no  one's  fault  but 
my  own,  and  I  —  I  loved  you  so  ! "  he  says,  with  a  sud 
den  break  and  tremor  in  his  voice. 

"  Dear  Jack  !  " 

"  Constance,  you  do  care  for  me  — you  will !  I  don't 
say  now,  but  some  time-,  you  —  you  must  care  for  me 
some  time  !  "  he  says  wildly.  "  Constance  !  you  are  so 
good,  so  dear  ;  it  is  impossible  you  should  be  so  cruel  to 
me  !  "  For  the  first  time  in  his  experience  he  has  been 
exalted,  lifted  above  himself  by  a  wave  of  supreme 
emotion.  "I  —  I  can't  believe  it !  "  he  cries,  with  a 


124  MIRAGE. 

sort  of  bewildered  rage.  "  It 's  impossible.  You  cannot 
—  you  will  not  mean  it,"  he  says  imploringly,  seizing 
her  hand  in  his.  "  Constance  —  " 

"  I  cannot,  Jack.  I  like  you  ;  I  am  very  fond  of 
you.  I  will  always  be  your  friend  — " 

"  And  you  will  never  love  me  ?  " 

Miss  Varley  was  silent. 

"  Never  ?  " 

"  Never." 

"  Well,  that 's  hard  !  "  said  Stuart,  drawing  a  long 
breath. 

He  got  up  ;  walked  away  a  few  paces.  Lione  sprang 
to  his  feet  and  stood  watching  him  in  eager  expectation 
of  the  signal  to  move  on. 

Constance  too  rose,  and  looked  about  her,  and  paused, 
irresolute.  She  was  profoundly  moved  by  the  sight  of 
his  distress. 

A  woman  can  rarely  persuade  herself  that  by  refus 
ing  to  marry  a  man  she  has  not  inflicted  upon  him  a 
serious  injury,  and  this  in  the  face  of  the  clearest  con 
viction  of  the  utter  unsuitableness  of  the  match.  It 
is  true  that  we  are  more  apt  to  estimate  a  gift  by  what 
it  costs  us  than  by  the  value  it  represents  to  another. 
Before  blaming  Constance  for  this  —  for  any  thing  which 
followed  —  it  would  perhaps  be  well  to  remember  how 
all  her  own  conception  of  suffering  was  centred,  as  it 
were,  about  this  one  phase  of  experience  —  the  pain  of 
baffled  desire.  Memory  intensified  her  comprehension 
of  Stuart's  disappointment.  The  thought  of  Denis  was 
one  with  the  impulse  which  made  her  go  forward  a  few 
steps  and  put  out  her  hand. 

"Jack!" 

Mr.  Stuart  turned,  his  sunburnt,  boyish  face  wearing 
a  look  which  surely  it  had  never  worn  before. 

"Don't  distress  yourself.  It  hasn't  been  your  fault. 
Other  fellows  have  been  through  this  sort  of  thing  be 
fore  now,"  he  says  ;  "  only  —  if  you  are  expecting  some 
thing  different  —  " 

There  is  a  pause,  and  then :  "  Well  1  that  is  over," 


BLUE  LILIES.  125 


he  says  firmly.  "Shall  we  go  down?  Tom  will  be 
waiting." 

This  time  it  is  Miss  Varley  who  hesitates.  She  hesi 
tates,  and  then,  perhaps,  with  a  sense  of  the  hopeless 
ness  of  further  discussion,  perhaps  even  with  some 
slight  recognition  of  the  superior  wisdom  of  silence,  she 
gathers  up  her  gloves  and  whip  and  signifies  her  readi 
ness  to  go. 

Mr.  Stuart's  note-case  is  still  lying  on  the  window- 
ledge. 

"  You  have  left  your  pocket-book,"  she  says,  pointing 
with  her  whip. 

He  took  it  up,  looked  at  it,  took  out  the  faded  lily 
and  held  it  in  his  hand. 

"  See  !  I  can  let  it  go  now,  but  it  has  left  a  stain," 
he  said  sadly,  and  let  the  discolored  petals  flutter  to 
the  ground. 

They  walked  down  to  where  the  horses  were  waiting, 
without  another  word,  and,  once  mounted,  they  picked 
their  way  down  the  difficult  mountain-trail  with  a  burn 
ing  consciousness  of  the  irrevocable  and  the  changed. 
And  as  they  rode  on  thus  in  agitated  silence  : 

"  Hollo !  Why,  you  're  not  going  to  ride  over  me,  are 
you  ? "  said  a  brisk  and  cheerful  voice. 

It  was  Major  Thayer  —  the  Major,  whom  they  had 
quite  forgotten  —  sitting  upon  his  camp-stool  in  the 
shade  of  an  olive,  smoking,  his  white  hat  resting  on  the 
back  of  his  head,  and  a  quiet  smile  of  middle-aged 
content  playing  about  his  mouth  as  he  sat  and  contem 
plated  his  sketch. 

The  commonplaces  of  life  reasserted  themselves  with 
a  start. 

"Well,  any  new  facts  about  the  Samaritans?"  the 
Major  asked ;  and  it  was  Mr.  Stuart  who  answered  him, 
with  admirable  composure.  The  ride  had  been  —  well, 
quite  worth  taking.  It  was  rather  rough  on  the  horses, 
certainly.  He  had  noticed  as  they  were  coming  down 
that  Miss  Varley's  horse  was  going  a  little  lame  on  the 
right  fore  foot.  But  the  view  was  quite  what  "  Murray  " 
described. 


126  MIRAGE. 

"  So  you  are  glad  you  went,  Constance  ?  " 

Miss  Varley  had  turned  round  to  call  Lione.  She 
did  not  hear. 

"  So  it  seems  we  have  all  been  making  good  use  of 
an  afternoon,"  the  Major  concluded  cheerfully.  "  I 
don't  brag  much  of  my  sketches  as  a  general  thing; 
but  if  you  will  just  look  at  that  bit  of  distance  there  — 
and  the  way  that  minaret  comes  out  between  the  trees 
—  why,  hang  it  all,  man,  don't  stand  in  your  own  light! 
Here,  pass  it  over  to  Constance.  And  I  think,"  said 
the  Major,  complacently,  folding  up  his  camp-stool  ajid 
shutting  up  his  box,  "  I  think,  for  once,  Fanny  will,  be 
satisfied  with  all  of  us." 

And  again  it  was  Mr.  Stuart  who  answered.  He  had 
no  doubt  of  it.  And  all  through  dinner  —  through  the 
ordeal  of  Fanny's  questioning  —  all  through  the  long 
evening  which  followed,  the  young  man  preserved  this 
unruffled  calm.  It  is  true  Mrs.  Thayer  observed  he 
never  looked  at  Constance  ;  but  then,  on  the  other 
hand,  they  spoke  to  each  other  often  and  pleasantly; 
nor  in  his  manner  of  addressing  Miss  Varley  could  his 
critic  detect  the  slightest  deviation  from  the  general 
tenor  of  his  speech.  It  was  only  after  dinner,  when  the 
ladies  had  both  retired,  and  Jack  and  the  Major  were 
sitting  together  in  that  friendly  silence  which  is  the  ex 
clusive  prerogative  of  our  sex,  that  Mr.  Stuart  exhibited 
any  symptoms  of  disquiet. 

He  got  up,  poured  himself  out  a  glass  of  whiskey  and 
water,  lit  a  cigar,  set  the  glass  down  on  the  table,  and 
threw  the  cigar  on  the  floor. 

"  I  'm  going  out,"  he  said  briefly,  and  suited  the  ac 
tion  to  the  word. 

It  was  a  still  and  starry  night.  The  camp  was  pitched 
on  a  small  circular  plateau  overhanging  the  ravine. 
The  young  man  thrust  his  hands  in  his  pocket,  walked 
over  to  the  farther  side  and  looked  down.  The  shad 
owy  mass  of  Mount  Ebal  towered  up  darkly  before  him, 
dimly  outlined  against  the  clearer  sky.  A  sound  of 
running  water  gurgled  softly  through  the  stillness.  He 


IN  ARC  AD  Y.  127 


could  hear  the  jackals  calling  to  one  another  from  the 
coverts  of  the  mountain. 

He  stood  there  a  long  while,  meditating.  He  turned 
his  head  and  looked  at  a  tent  where  the  light  was  still 
shining,  he  glanced  up  at  the  stars  above  him  ;  once  he 
even  whistled  softly  to  himself,  and  it  may  be  that  at 
this  moment  a  vague  idea  of  shooting  jackals  mingled 
with  his  more  sentimental  musings.  But  there  was,  per 
haps,  less  philosophy  than  might  have  been  expected  in 
this  patient  lingering  to  see  the  last  glimmer  of  light 
extinguished  in  that  particular  tent,  or  in  the  half-uttered 
blessing  with  which  he  turned  away. 

"  Stuyvesant  couldn't  do  it.  But  I'll  do  it  yet!"  he 
said  between  his  teeth  with  sudden  energy,  and  looked 
up  as  though  taking  the  silent  stars  to  witness  of  his 
resolve.  The  stars  shone  calmly  bright.  It  may  be  a 
more-impassioned  lover  would  have  seen  some  cold  and 
still  denial  in  that  calm  ;  a  more  superstitious  watcher 
might  even  have  attached  some  foolish  significance  to 
the  wild,  rattling  peal  of  derisive  laughter  with  which 
the  jackals  greeted  his  remark.  But  then,  Mr.  Stuart 
was  not  superstitious. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

IN    ARCADY. 

AND  then?" 
"  Oh,  then  we  went  all  the  way  up  to  the  top. 
I  Ve  told  you  that  before." 
"  And  then  ?  " 

"Then  we  did  like  the  king  of  France." 
"The  king  of  — " 

"France.  Who  rode  up  a  hill  with  all  his  twenty 
thousand  men,  and  then  —  rode  down  again.  Fanny, 
your  historical  education  has  been  neglected." 


128  MIRAGE. 

*-,   »• 
"  I  do  wish  you  would  be  serious,"  said  Mrs.  Thayer. 

"  I  am  serious  ;  perfectly  so.  If  you  are  curious  to 
know  what  we  talked  about,  my  dear,  why  that  is  an 
other  question.  I  remember  speaking  of  Mr.  Mc- 
Moon  for  one  thing.  There  was  a  fig-tree  up  there  that 
looked  exactly  like  Mr.  McMoon." 

"  Mr.  McMoon  had  the  face  of  a  monkey,"  Fanny  re 
marked,  impatiently. 

"  That  only  shows  what  a  good  old  family  he  belongs 
to.  I  think  it  is  rather  nice  myself  to  resemble  one's  an 
cestors,"  the  girl  answered,  gravely. 

They  were  on  their  way  to  Samaria,  riding  along  a 
narrow  path  under  leafy  boughs  by  the  side  of  a  ftram- 
ing  mill-race.  Constance  was  near  the  palanquin  ;  Mr. 
Stuart  and  the  Major  far  on  in  advance  ;  and  the  ex 
pression  on  Miss  Varley's  face  was  hardly  in  strict  uni 
son  with  the  nonsense  she  was  talking. 

Possibly  Mrs.  Thayer  was  aware  of  the  discrepancy. 

"  I  wonder,"  she  said  presently,  looking  up  with  an 
innocent  air,  "  I  wonder  what  Aunt  Van  —  we  are  sure 
to  meet  Aunt  Van  at  Damascus  —  what  she  will  think 
of  Jack  ? "  And  then,  receiving  no  answer,  "  I  am 
so  disappointed  in  Jack,"  she  went  on,  in  a  regretful 
manner. 

"Why,  Fanny?" 

"  Well,  one  expects  confidence  from  a  friend,"  said 
Fanny,  softly. 

Miss  Varley  blushed.  "  I  —  you  must  admit  yourself, 
Fanny,  that  there  are  certain  things  —  " 

"  Oh,  I  was  speaking  of  Jack,  my  dear.  You  and  I 
are  very  old  friends,  indeed.  It  would  be  a  pity  if  we 
could  not  understand  each  other,"  said  Mrs.  Thayer, 
sweetly. 

It  was  a  fact  that  they  had  known  each  other  a  long 
while.  Looking  back,  Constance  could  hardly  remem 
ber  a  scene  in  her  life  in  which  Fanny  had  not  played 
her  pretty,  complacent  part.  There  was  never  a  subject, 
save  one,  in  which  Fanny's  preference  had  not  had  its 
influence  ;  or  ever  a  pleasure,  again  with  that  exception, 


IN  ARC  AD  Y.  129 


in  which  Fanny  had  not  shared.  And  to  a  nature  en 
dowed  with  the  fatal  gift  of  sentiment,  this  very  habit  of 
giving  constituted  an  irresistible  claim.  "  Constance 
would  do  any  thing  for  me,"  was  Fanny's  habitual  for 
mula.  It  seemed  to  Mrs.  Thayer  a  truly  providential 
arrangement  that  she  should  have  this  opportunity  of 
superintending  the  fashioning  of  her  friend's  life.  For, 
curiously  enough,  the  admiration  was  chiefly  on  the 
other  side.  With  all  Fanny's  affectionate  solicitude, 
and  she  was  really  very  fond  of  Constance,  there  was 
mingled  some  secret  doubt  and  wonder  at  a  simple  and 
generous  credulity  she  was  quite  unfitted  to  understand. 
For,  indeed,  it  is  rather  remarkable  to  what  a  superla 
tive  degree  of  contempt  for  human  nature  the  average 
individual  can  attain,  by  simply  shutting  his  eyes  to  the 
existence  of  any  loftier  standard  than  that  by  which  he 
measures  his  own  acts. 

But  they  are  riding  to  Samaria.  It  is  a  soft,  gray 
morning.  The  sky  is  overcast,  and  the  warm  gusts  of 
wind  spatter  sharp  raindrops  in  their  faces,  but  as  yet 
there  is  no  shower.  They  have  not  been  riding  long 
before  the  road  turns  abruptly  to  tha  right,  and  begins 
climbing  the  terraced  hill  to  the  breezy  upland  of  old 
Samaria.  Its  rows  of  discrowned  columns,  wind-eaten 
and  worn  and  gray,  stand  in  an  orchard  of  gray  fig-trees, 
leafless  as  yet,  but  with  some  subtle  hint  of  color  playing 
about  them  and  foretelling  spring.  The  loose,  thin  veil 
of  clouds  gives  a  new  tenderness  of  coloring  to  the  day. 
There  is  nothing  jarring,  nothing  to  disturb  this  sweet 
monotony  of  soft,  gray  skies,  gray  olive-groves,  and  the 
fresh,  vivid  green  of  the  rain-awakened  grass.  Some  of 
the  columns  are  stained  with  yellow  lichen,  and  all  are 
defaced  and  time-worn.  Nature  has  so  taken  them  to 
her  heart  they  have  become  of  the  very  texture  of  the 
moss-grown  trees  about  them  ;  and  there  seems  nothing 
startling,  nothing  incongruous,  in  finding  them  thus 
alone  amidst  the  freshness  of  the  blossoming  fields. 

"  I  will  make  Samaria  as  an  heap  of  the  field  and  as 
plantings  of  a  vineyard,"  Constance  quoted  beneath  her 


130  MIRAGE. 

»•, *~~ 

breath.  They  had  ridden  up  to  the  crest  of  the  hill  and 
there  dismounted.  Major  Thayer  was  making  a  sketch. 

They  were  standing  perhaps  on  the  very  site  of  the 
great  Baal  temple.  Here  had  been  the  groves  of  Ash- 
taroth  ;  here  the  brazen  serpent  that  Moses  made  ;  and 
here  the  flaming  chariot  and  horses  of  the  sun.  Look 
ing  across  the  swelling  upland,  "fair  with  the  precious 
things  of  the  lasting  hills,  the  precious  things  of  the 
earth  and  the  fulness  thereof,"  where  the  people  had  set 
up  their  images  and  groves  in  every  high  hill  and  under 
every  green  tree,  they  could  see  perhaps  the  very  path 
the  prophet  had  taken,  going  out  to  the  wilderness',  to 
yet  another  chariot  and  other  horses  of  fire. 

It  was  curious  to  turn  from  those  Chaldean  sages, 
grave  Eastern  worshippers  of  all  the  hosts  of  heaven  — 
through  the  turbulent,  blood-stained  reign  of  Jewish  pro 
phet  and  king  —  to  these  pilgrims  of  a  later  day,  these 
worshippers  of  another  faith,  heralded  by  yet  another 
Star  in  the  East.  And  still  the  young  flowers  smiled 
and  danced  like  children  in  the  sweet  morning  air  ;  the 
patient  mother  earth  thrilled  responsive  to  the  wooing 
touch  of  yet  another  spring  ;  and  all  the  familiar  miracle 
of  life  swept,  and  breathed,  and  broke  with  ever  fresh 
insistence  about  the  lonely  hill. 

An  Arab  was  ploughing  his  orchard,  among  the  col 
umns,  under  the  trees.  At  the  end  of  the  furrow  he 
paused ;  he  leaned  his  arms  upon  his  plough  —  the 
sharpened  root  of  a  tree  ;  the  big,  brown  oxen  stood  still, 
and  all  three  turned  their  heads  and  gazed  at  the  stran 
gers  with  slow,  indifferent  eyes.  He  went  on  with  his 
work  without  even  lifting  his  head  as  the  travellers  rode 
away. 

Down  by  the  village  another  surprise  was  awaiting 
them  —  a  Gothic  cathedral,  roofless  and  sunken,  but 
otherwise  entire.  It  was  built  — 

"  Don't  tell  me  it  was  built  by  the  Empress  Helena," 
said  Constance,  laughing.  "That  terrible  woman!  she 
is  as  unescapable  as  original  sin  !  " 

"  This  is  where  John  the  Baptist  is  buried.     Will  you 


IN  ARC  AD  Y.  131 

hand  me  that  '  Murray,'  Tom  ?  Yes  ;  here  's  thfe  place  : 
'  The  total  length  of  the  interior  — '  That 's  not  it.  '  A 
little  chamber  excavated  deep  in  the  rock,  to  which  the 
descent  is  by  —  '  Oh,  Jack,  would  you  mind  going  down 
into  that  hole  and  counting  the  steps?  Dr.  Adams 
would  be  so  interested  —  " 

"  Then  somebody  must  come  with  me  to  carry  the 
candle,"  said  Jack. 

"I'll  go." 

Miss  Varley  took  a  light  from  the  dragoman.  "  Let 
me  go  first.  You  might  fall ; "  and  then  Fanny,  look 
ing  down  into  the  pit,  hears  only  a  confused  murmur  of 
voices.  The  lights  twinkle  and  disappear. 

"  Brava,  Fanny  !  Very  neat,  indeed,"  says  the  Major, 
laying  down  his  sketch-book  and  beginning  to  sharpen 
a  pencil,  "  Very  neat,  my  dear." 

"Neat?"  Mrs.  Thayer  looks  about  her  with  an  air  of 
ingenuous  wonder.  "  People  have  different  opinions,  I 
know  —  and,  of  course,  I  don't  pretend  to  be  much  of  a 
judge  of  architecture  ;  but,  upon  my  word,  it  is  the  first 
time  I  ever  heard  the  word  applied  to  a  ruin  !  "  she  says, 
with  a  toss  of  her  head. 

Major  Thayer's  laughter  was  distinctly  audible  in  the 
vault  below. 

"  Tom  is  enjoying  himself,"  said  Constance,  with  a 
smile.  She  held  the  candle  higher  and  looked  about  the 
blank  walls  of  the  dungeon.  A  long,  white  lizard  started 
at  the  unwonted  light,  scurrying  across  the  stones. 
There  was  a  slow  dripping  of  water  at  the  farther  end  of 
the  room. 

"  Do  you  believe  John  the  Baptist  was  really  buried 
here  ? " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Do  you  care  ? " 

"  Not  much.     Do  you  ?  " 

"  No." 

They  both  laughed.  "  Here  !  give  me  the  light  to 
carry,"  said  Stuart,  with  sudden  gravity. 

"  Constance  ! " 


132  MIRAGE. 

"Well-?" 

He  turned  abruptly ;  held  the  candle  closer  to  the 
wall  and  began  examining  the  jointure  of  the  blocks. 

"There  isn't  any  mortar.  It  looks  more  like  Roman 
work,"  he  began.  And  then,  facing  round  suddenly; 
"  You  said,  yesterday,  that  we  might  be  friends.  Very 
well.  I  accept  your  offer.  We  will  be  —  friends,"  he 
said,  steadily,  and  held  out  his  hand. 

Fanny  looked  at  them  curiously  as  they  came  up  the 
steps  again  and  out  into  the  dazzling  daylight. 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  Oh,  there  was  nothing  !  " 

"  Not  even  the  steps,"  says  Major  Thayer,  gravely. 
"  Constance,  are  you  a  good  judge  of  architecture  ? 
Fanny  is  —  " 

"  It  was  the  least  thing  you  could  do,  to  go  down  and 
look  at  the  grave  of  your  patron  saint,"  says  Fanny, 
hastily,  turning  to  Stuart. 

Was  John  the  Baptist  Jack's  patron  saint?  The  Major 
professed  himself  profoundly  ignorant  upon  these  ques 
tions.  "  But  was  not  John,  your  namesake,  the  John 
who  lost  his  head  for  a  woman  —  for  Salome  ?  "  he  asks, 
with  a  peculiar  smile. 

While  they  were  waiting  for  the  horses,  Jack  strolled 
away  carelessly  down  the  road  between  the  cactus- 
hedges.  For  a  wonder  he  came  back  with  his  hands 
full  of  flowers. 

"Will  you  have  some  blue  lilies?  "  he  said  to  Con 
stance. 

It  was  a  long,  still,  uneventful  morning.  There  was 
a  sense  of  ineffable  repose  in  the  sight  of  those  soft, 
low-hanging  clouds,  in  the  touch  of  that  soft  and  wind 
less  air.  At  luncheon-time  they  left  the  rocky  path, 
forded  the  wide,  shallow  bed  of  the  brook  that  since 
earliest  morning  had  mingled  its  joyous  babble  with 
their  own  more  desultory  talk,  and  stretched  themselves 
out  at  ease  upon  the  short,  close  grass  of  the  mountain- 
slope.  The  horses  were  picketed  amongst  the  trees.  A 
few  paces  off  the  muleteers  were  coming  and  going,  were 


IN  ARCADY.  133 


piling  armfuls  of  crackling  thorn  upon  the  neonday  fire. 
Now  and  then  a  pale  gleam  of  sunlight  awoke  a  splen 
dor  of  color  aVnong  the  rocks,  deep  embedded  in  flowers 
—  large  cupped  anemones,  purple  and  red  and  opal 
white ;  white  daisies,  yellow  chrysanthemums ;  rose- 
colored  cyclamen,  and  silvery  mallows  with  dark  curling 
leaves,  and  low-creeping  thyme.  Now  and  then  some 
sudden  raindrops  made  a  soft,  quick  pattering  over 
head. 

"  Have  you  any  money  in  your  pockets  ?  Hark  !  I 
hear  the  first  cuckoo  of  the  spring,"  said  Fanny. 

They  listened.  The  melancholy  love-cry  of  the  home 
less  bird  called  to  them  from  the  far-off,  unseen  woods. 
They  listened.  There  stole  a  sound  of  clear,  continuous 
fluting  on  the  air.  A  thin,  sweet  sound  of  shepherds 
piping  to  their  flocks  ;  pure  and  remote  as  though  float 
ing  down  to  them  from  out  some  sunny  vale  of  Arcady ; 
a  faint,  unfamiliar  joyousness  of  melody,  which  made 
them  pause,  and  turn,  and  look,  in  the  silence  of  incred 
ulous  delight.  And  as  the  sweet  sound  ceased,  they  heard 
the  humming  of  bees  deep  in  thick-creeping  thyme. 

"  This  is  pastoral.     A  perfect  idyl,"  said  the  Major. 

Lione  lifted  his  sleek  head,  pricked  up  his  ears,  and 
growled. 

"  There  comes  the  little  beggar  himself,"  said  Jack. 

There  was  a  soft  pattering  of  many  feet  across  the 
turf,  and  the  boy  passed  before  them,  still  fingering  his 
oaten  pipe,  and  followed  by  a  troop  of  long-haired 
goats. 

"  Do  listen  to  him  again,"  said  Constance. 

They  listened  again.  The  dappled  sunshine  flickered 
to  and  fro  with  the  gentle  stirring  of  the  wind  among  the 
leaves.  The  air  was  delicious  ;  the  breeze  was  soft  and  fit 
ful  ;  the  sense  of  peace  profound.  The  boy  went  on  play 
ing.  The  wise  old  goats  shook  all  their  venerable  beards, 
nibbling  the  flower-spotted  grass.  Here  and  there  some 
black-faced  patriarch  of  the  flock  raised  himself  up,  plant 
ing  his  sharp  feet  firmly  in  the  black  ivy,  and  tearing  down 
green  wreaths  of  honeysuckle,  or  stretched  his  long  neck 


134  MIRAGE. 

"^-s.     ' 

upwards  to  crop  the  tender  shoots  of  the  wild  olive. 
The  boy  played  upon  his  pipe.  Jack  tossed  him  a  piece 
of  bread.  He  let  it  lie  at  his  feet;  placidly  looked  and 
played. 

"  By  Jove  !  the  little  rascal  isn't  hungry,"  said  Jack. 

"  How  could  you  throw  it  at  him  in  that  way  ?  But 
do  listen,"  said  Constance. 

'  And  now  the  shepherd  blew  more  softly  on  his  flute, 
idly,  slowly ;  the  goats  came  trooping  down  together, 
jostling  each  other,  by  twos  and  threes.  He  turned 
without  a  word,  and  passed  away  between  the  olives ; 
and  still,  as  he  turned  away,  the  fitful  notes  Stole 
plaintively  back  borne  by  the  fitful  wind. 

"  1  call  this  exquisite,"  said  Constance,  with  a  deep- 
drawn  sigh  of  pleasure. 

And  it  was  exquisite.  It  was  like  Theocritus :  some 
thing  lovely,  and  young,  and  utterly  untouched  by  care, 
full  of  the  simple  delight  of  being. 

"  Dear  child,  what  do  you  care  for  that  boy  and  his 
whistle  and  his  nasty  goats  ?  You  haven't  eaten  a  thing. 
Do  take  a  sardine.  That  little  wretch  knows  nothing 
of  sardines  and  olives." 

And  here  Jack,  who  was  lying  like  a  young  Theseus, 
leaning  on  his  elbow,  suddenly  bent  forward. 

"By  Jove  !  Look  —  look,  quick  !  Two  lizards  fight 
ing.  See  the  little  beasts.  They  mean  mischief." 

"  Dear  me  ;  how  can  you  look  at  any  thing  so  horrid  ?  " 
said  Fanny. 

"  They  are  furious,"  said  Jack.  "  See  them  twist. 
There,  they  roll  over  !  He  's  caught  the  other  fellow  by 
the  throat.  By  Jove  !  I  believe  he  '11  kill  him  in  another 
minute." 

Tom  leaned  forward  ;  Constance  turned  ;  Mrs.  Thayer 
went  on  eating  p&te  de  foie  gras. 

The  lizards  were  locked  together,  ferocious,  intense ; 
their  scaly  backs  were  of  the  most  vivid  green.  The 
one  had  gripped  the  other  by  the  under  side  of  his  throat, 
the  jaw  sharp-shut  upon  its  soft,  white  skin.  The  victim 
was  panting,  writhing,  struggling  for  release. 


IN  ARCADY.  135 


"  But  he  will  kill  him  !  Do  separate  them,  do  !  "  cried 
Constance. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Major,  "it's  a  death-struggle.  And 
look  at  Madame  Lizard  hurrying  off,  she  who  has  caused 
the  row.  See  her  delicate  ladyship  scurrying  away.  Just 
like  a  woman  !  She  can't  endure  the  sight  of  her  own 
mischief." 

"  She  is  horrid,"  said  Constance  ;  "  an  ugly,  gray  thing 
not  worth  looking  at.  But  don't  let  that  dreadful  green 
beast  kill  the  other  one.  Do  stop  them,  Jack." 

Jack  rose  and  pushed  them  apart  with  the  end  of  his 
riding-whip.  They  did  not  even  notice  his  intrusion. 
They  were  mad  with  battle.  He  had  literally  to  pry 
them  apart ;  and,  as  he  did  so,  they  swiftly  ran  in  circles, 
head  to  tail  and  tail  to  head,  snapping  at  each  other's 
throats,  and  again  the  weakest  one  rolled  hopelessly 
over.  Again  Jack  pried  them  apart ;  this  time  the 
smaller  one  tried  to  escape,  but  only  to  be  pursued, 
overtaken,  seized. 

And  now  even  Fanny  surrendered  her  comfortable 
seat,  and  stood  up  to  see  the  fray. 

"  How  can  you  ?  "  Constance  asked. 

"  Oh,  let  them  have  it  out.  Why  stop  them  ?  It 's 
nature  ;  and  I  'm  curious  to  see  which  will  win." 

"  Yes,"  said  Jack,  "  it 's  nature  ;  but  the  little  fellow 
is  plucky,  and  he  's  Constance's  protege.  He  shan't  be 
killed." 

"  Yes,"  said  Tom,  "  play  Providence  ;  rescue  the  one 
who  shows  the  most  fight." 

And  this  time  the  larger  one  glided  away,  leaving  his 
victim  panting  among  the  olive-roots. 

"  Rather  knocked  out  of  time  that  last  round,"  Mr. 
Stuart  remarked,  poking  him  up  with  his  stick. 

"Oh,  Jack,  please  —  " 

"  Hollo !  here  comes  my  lady  back  again,"  said  Jack. 

The  timid,  plain  little  animal  came  out  of  its  hole, 
and  furtively  looked  about. 

" '  O  woman,  not  too  bright  or  good,'  &c.,"  said 
Tom,  leaning  back  and  lighting  his  cigar.  "  She  has 


136  MIRAGE* 


welcomed  the  hero  of  the  fight,  and  now  she  com&s  out 
in  pity  to  look  after  the  victim  !  There  's  a  touch  of 
nature  for  you !  Lovely  woman  !  whichever  side  loses 
she  wins,  and  finds  time  to  console  both  parties.  And 
here  endeth  the  first  lesson.  Pass  me  those  matches, 
Jack." 

"Nonsense,"  said  Fanny,  tossing  her  head. 

"  No,"  said  Constance,  "  she  suffers  for  both  sides. 
Her  sympathies  are  wide  and  impersonal.  She  is  an 
angel  of  pity." 

"  As  though  a  man  wanted  pity,"  said  Jack. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  Constance,  thoughtlessly  ; 
"you  know  it  is  the  very  next  thing  to  love."  V 

Mr.  Stuart  was  looking  at  the  landscape. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

SHOWING    HOW   MR.    STUART   BROKE    HIS    BRIDLE. 

THE  Plain  of  Esdraelon. 
It  was  one  day  last  winter,  a  Sunday,  and  Con 
stance  was  in  church.  It  was  a  bitterly  cold  morning ;  — 
bitterly  cold,  that  is  to  say,  for  the  ragged  groups  of  men 
and  women  huddled  about  the  station-house  fires,  loiter 
ing  before  the  eating-house  windows,  crouching  over  the 
gratings  before  the  newspaper  offces  to  feel  the  warmth 
'cf  the  steam-fed  machines  ;  striving  in  a  hundred  forlorn 
fashions  to  retain  some  hold  upon  their  objectionable 
and  unimportant  lives;  —  but  here,  in  church,  it  was 
warm  enough  in  all  conscience.  It  was  too  warm. 
Pastor,  and  discourse,  and  people  —  all  were  suffering 
alike  for  want  of  a  little  freshness. 

Well,  the  Litany  was  over.  A  well-dressed  congrega 
tion  had  listened  in  well-bred  silence  to  the  repeated 
and  mellifluous  admission,  on  the  part  of  the  choir,  that 
they  were  miserable  sinners.  Saint  Clare's  is  famous 


HOW  MR.  STUART  BROKE  HIS  BRIDLE.     137 

for  its  music.  Last  winter  the  primo-soprano  alone  drew 
a  salary  of  fifteen  hundred  dollars  a  year.  Her  stage 
name,  I  believe,  was  De  Montmorency.  The  Litany 
was  over;  the  Ten  Commandments  had  been  rehearsed 
with  decorous  speed.  The  clergyman  —  (a  pale  young 
man  with  a  severe  and  ascetic  face  ;  a  pastor  who  spoke 
to  his  prosperous  flock  with  a  hardly-veiled  contempt, 
and  the  moment  after  was  well-nigh  moved  to  tears  at 
the  thought  of  the  Virgin  Mary;  an  ambitious  man,  who 
yet  would  cheerfully  imperil  his  standing  in  the  diocese 
and  his  future  prospects  in  life  by  the  lighting  of  an 
extra  candle  for  conscience'  sake  ;  an  enthusiast,  ready 
to  undergo  martyrdom  for  the  folding  of  a  chasuble ; 
equally  ready,  perhaps,  to  make  a  "neat  thing"  out  of 
the  disposal  of  the  church's  corner  lot)  —  the  clergyman 
had  glided  into  his  pulpit,  and  the  sermon  had  begun. 

It  had  begun,  it  had  even  been  progressing  for  some 
minutes,  when  those  words,  "  The  Plain  of  Esdraelon," 
fell  disconnected  and  imperative  among  the  wandering 
thoughts  of  Constance.  And  straightway  there  arose 
before  her  a  vision  of  wide  fields.  The  crowded  church 
grew  dim,  faded  away;  for  miles  and  miles  she  saw  the 
meadowland  opening  out  before  her  eyes  —  here,  a 
flaming  mass  of  red  anemones  ;  there,  yellow  and  white 
with  myriad  nodding  daisies  ;  farther  on,  a  sheet  of 
burning  azure  in  the  sun.  Again  she  saw  the  noble 
lines  of  the  landscape  lifting  and  falling  with  the  large 
freedom  of  the  sea,  to  rise  and  lose  themselves  at  last 
in  the  shadowy  blue  mountains  at  the  horizon.  The  day 
was  perfection  ;  the  sweet  rain-washed  air  blew  soft  as 
a  caress.  All  about  them  the  tempered  intensity  of  the 
sunshine  was  transfiguring  the  land  until  each  sun-filled 
flower-cup  burned  with  vivid  and  individual  life.  And 
there  is  an  intangible,  an  intoxicating  quality  in  this 
Syrian  spring  not  to  be  rendered  in  \yords.  There  is  no 
element  of  sadness  in  the  landscape  here.  Judasa,  silent 
and  desolate  and  bare,  has  still  a  certain  reticence,  a 
self-satisfied,  self-sufficing  expression  in  her  very  au 
sterity.  The  ineffable  languor,  the  profound  melan- 


138  MIRAGE. 

choly  of  the  Italian  landscape,  has  no  place  among 
these  abandoned  and  luxuriant  plains ;  and  yet,  how 
often  that  morning  had  they  not  been  reminded  of  that 
"  Sra}7  Campagna  sea  ? "  Even  Fanny  spoke  of  it  after 
awhile. 

"  I  never  could  understand  what  people  rave  about 
the  Roman  Campagna  for,"  Stuart  remarked.  "  For 
my  part  I  think,  if  people  cared  so  much  for  the  beauties 
of  Nature  as  they  pretend  to,  they  would  keep  their  en 
thusiasm  for  places  where  there  was  something  to  look 
at,  like  the  Yosemite,  for  instance,  or  Switzerland.  I 
can  understand  admiring  Mont  Blanc,  now,  but  the 
Campagna !  Why,  it 's  nothing  but  a  big  field." '. 

"  And  what  do  you  do  with  your  classics,  th^pn,  you 
young  vandal,  you  ?  "  the  Major  demanded. 

"Well,  I  let  them  pretty  much  alone  as  a  general  rule," 
said  Jack,  with  his  honest  laugh.  "  I  didn't  come  abroad 
to  write  a  book ;  I  came  to  enjoy  myself.  Classical 
associations  may  be  all  very  well  in  their  way  for  some' 
fellows.  I  like  something  more  modern  myself.  Why," 
said  the  young  man,  with  a  great  air  of  scorn,  "  I  Ve 
spent  the  best  part  of  eight  or  nine  years  pegging 
away  at  Latin  and  Greek.  You  can't  suppose  I  like 
them." 

"Jack,  have  you  ever  heard  me  calumniate  my  friends 
in  their  presence  ?  "  said  the  Major,  solemnly. 

"  The  fact  is,"  Mr.  Stuart  rejoined,  "  I  'm  an  Ameri 
can,  and  I  'm  glad  of  it.  I  don't  care  to  belong  to  any 
country  where  all  the  biggest  men  are  in  their  graves. 
The  fact  is,  Europe  has  been  exaggerated.  I  don't  want 
to  blame  the  natives  for  what  may  not  be  entirely  their 
own  fault,  poor  devils  !  I  don't  censure  any  man  for 
sticking  up  for  his  own  institutions,  whatever  my  opinion 
may  be  of  their  merits,"  said  this  magnanimous  young 
critic;  "but  when  I  want  something  lively,  something 
go-ahead-looking,  I  know  where  to  expect  it,  that 's  all  ! 
Somehow,  I  don't  seem  to  feel  very  uneasy  in  my  mind 
about  America." 

"  I  thought  it  was  only  the  typical  Britisher  who  was 


HO  W  MR.  STUA R T  BROKE  HIS  BRIDLE.     1 39 

supposed  to  travel  for  the  purpose  of  dividing  the  world 
into  Englishmen  and  'foreigners,'"  said  Constance. 

"  Oh,  you  mustn't  imagine  I  'm  not  glad  to  have  been 
over  on  this  side,  for  once.  There  's  the  Leaning  Tower 
at  Pisa,  now — I  shall  always  be  glad  to  have  seen  the 
Leaning  Tower  —  and  Vesuvius  ;  and  the  Colosseum; 
and  St.  Peter's.  St.  Peter's  was  about  as  large  as  I 
expected." 

"St.  Peter's  is  like  a  tomb,"  said  Constance.  "All 
the  Roman  churches  are  like  tombs.  But  St.  Peter's  is 
like  a  great  receiving- vault  where  a  dead  religion  is  laid 
out  in  state." 

"Ah,  Florence  is  the  place  for  me,"  said  Major  Thayer, 
"Florence  and  the  pictures  —  " 

"  Oh,  I  went  to  see  the  galleries  too.  Because  I  don't 
like  pictures  you  needn't  think  I  don't  go  and  see  them," 
said  Jack,  ingenuously.  "  I  haven't  missed  a  gallery 
yet  —  except  when  it  was  a  question  of  catching  a  train. 
I  was  more  than  two  hours  in  the  Uffizzi  at>  Florence. 
There  was  a  Venus  there,  I  remember  —  Titian's  Venus. 
I  thought  she  was  very  pretty." 

"  Ah,  yes.  It  is  considered  rather  a  pretty  thing,  I 
believe,"  said  the  Major,  composedly,  flicking  at  his 
horse's  ears  with  his  whip ;  "  when  we  go  back  we  must 
try  and  go  over  some  galleries  together,  Jack.  I  should 
like  to  have  your  opinion  —  " 

"  But  I  'm  not  so  sure  —  I  mean,  I  have  not  made  up 
my  mind  when  and  how  I  shall  go  back  yet,"  Mr.  Stuart 
remarked  gravely. 

The  Major  opened  his  eyes,  looked  at  Constance. 
Miss  Varley  was  watching  Lione.  "Oh,  indeed,"  he 
said  ;  "  I  didn't  know  ;  "  and  fell  to  whistling  pensively. 

At  midday  they  halted  by  the  side  of  a  shallow,  brawl 
ing  river.  A  vigorous  growth  of  thick  up-springing 
oleanders  followed  its  course.  Some  Bedaween  were 
watering  their  cattle  among  the  bushes. 

"  Are  there  many  of  those  men  about  here,  Hassan  ? " 

"  Well,  sir,  plenty,  sir." 

"  Do  you  know  what  tribe  they  belong  to  ?  " 


140  MIRAGE. 

"How  I  know  him,  sir?  You  think  perhaps  I  know 
that  kind  of  men." 

"  But  somebody  must  know  how  many  there  are. 
Doesn't  the  Government  take  any  kind  of  census?" 

Hassan  looked  puzzled.  He  carefully  rubbed  a  bit 
of  mud  off  the  knee  of  his  black  trowsers,  coughed,  gave 
an  order  to  the  cook. 

"  The  Major  means,  doesn't  the  Government  ever 
count  these  men  ?  Send  people  out  here  to  find  out 
how  many  there  are,  and  how  they  live?"  explained  Mr. 
Stuart. 

A  look  of  dignified  remonstrance  came  over 'the 
dragoman's  face. 

"  What  for  the  Government  count  them  ?  You  think, 
perhaps,  Turkish  Government  got  nothing  to  do  but 
count  men,"  he  said  reprovingly. 

Jack  laughed. 

"Well,  they  don't  look  a  particularly  formidable  lot, 
in  spite  *f  those  long  lances,"  the  Major  remarked 
leisurely,  taking  a  survey  of  the  scene. 

"No,  sir;  very  good  men,  sir.  I  tell  the  ladies  be 
careful  not  leave  things  aBout.  Bedawy  steal  every 
thing  he  see,"  said  Hassan,  doggedly.  He  felt  that  he 
was  being  cross-examined.  An  unfair  advantage  had 
been  taken  of  his  willingness  to  impart  information  he 
did  not  possess.  From  the  blue  tassel  of  his  fez  to  the 
point  of  his  patent-leather  boots,  there  was  not  an  inch 
of  his  short,  thick-set,  broadcloth-covered  body  which 
did  not  protest  against  the  affront. 

The  day  had  grown  very  warm.  It  was  the  first  time 
since  their  arrival  in  Palestine  that  they  had  been  com 
pelled  to  lunch  out  in  the  open.  Fanny  pitied  them 
very  much  from  the  vantage-ground  of  her  shady  seat  in 
the  palanquin.  It  was  especially  hard,  as  she  remarked, 
on  poor  dear  Constance,  who  had  already  been  riding 
all  the  morning  in  the  sun. 

The  heat  made  everybody  drowsy.  As  the  afternoon 
wore  on,  the  train  was  more  and  more  scattered  —  a  long, 
irregular  line  of  silent  horsemen";  the  jangling  mules  of 


HOW  MR.  STUART  BROKE  HIS  BRIDLE.     141 

the  palanquin  slowly  and  noisily  bringing  up  the  rear. 
The  dragoman  had  loitered  far  behind,  talking  to  an  ac 
quaintance  —  a  little  old  man,  muffled  to  his  eyes  in 
folds  of  white  linen,  riding  a  diminutive  donkey  and 
followed  by  a  boy  carrying  his  pipe  —  whom  they  had 
picked  up  by  the  way. 

The  muleteers  were  half  of  them  asleep,  only  now  and 
then  some  guttural  malediction  followed  the  stumbling 
of  a  tired  horse.  Luigi  was  leading-the  way,  humming 
an  air  from  an  opera  in  shrill  falsetto,  sitting  sideways 
upon  a  baggage-mule  among  a  battery  of  kitchen  pots 
and  pans. 

"  May  one  ask  what  you  are  thinking  of  ?"  said  Stu 
art,  suddenly,  checking  his  horse  to  let  Miss  Varley 
overtake  him  ;  "  you  are  very  silent." 

Constance  blushed.  They  had  been  riding  for  some 
distance  in  true  Syrian  fashion  —  the  horses  following 
each  other  in  single  file.  It  is  an  arrangement  which 
has  its  advantages.  For  example,  she  had  been  think 
ing  of  Stuart.  Some  trivial  accident,  perhaps  the  mere 
catching  of  the  sunlight  on  the  gold-woven  cufieh  twisted 
about  his  hat,  had  turned  her  eyes  in  his  direction. 
Stuart  looked  very  well  on  horseback  ;  Fanny  had  re 
marked  the  fact  a  hundred  times,  and  there  was  certainly 
nothing  extraordinary  in  the  attention  with  which  Miss 
Varley  watched  his  movements.  Some  casual  turn  of 
his  head,  or  hand,  had  reminded  her  of  the  portraits  she 
had  seen  at  Jerusalem.  One  after  the  other  the  faces  of 
his  family  had  risen  before  her.  She  remembered  them 
all  —  the  portly  father,  with  the  self-satisfied  glance  ; 
his  pretty  sister,  his  mother,  the  small  boy-brother  with 
the  pert  and  comical  smile.  They  might  have  become 
her  brother  and  her  sister,  the  girl  thought  with  sudden 
wonder.  No  one  had  ever  spoken  to  her  of  the  Stuarts, 
and  yet,  in  some  subtle  fashion,  essentially  feminine  — 
(one  sees  evidences  of  this  faculty  in  the  subordinates  of 
all  ages)  —  she  had  constructed  for  herself  a  detailed 
plan  of  all  their  ways  and  habits.  With  a  curious  in 
terest  she  realized  what  her  own  share  in  that  life  would 


142  MIRAGE. 

"\K,     •> 

have  been.  She  saw  herself  Jack's  wife  —  his  compan 
ion  —  living  his  life,  shaping  her  own  existence  to  meet 
his  requirements;  and  not  his  alone  —  the  requirements 
of  his  family,  of  his  friends.  She  saw  herself  trans 
ported  to  another  milieu,  in  another  atmosphere  —  a 
world  untroubled  by  thought,  cushioned  by  respectability, 
secured  against  emotion. 

She  thought  of  Stuart,  of  Fanny's  counsel.  She  had 
reduced  her  life  to  an  attitude  of  patient,  and  loyal,  and 
passionate  expectation,  until  the  very  force  of  her  pur 
pose  had  turned  against  her,  and  she  shrank  instinc 
tively  from  any  decisive  action.  The  very  readi'ness 
with  which  she  was  wont  to  submit  her  own  to  another's 
claim  or  purpose,  gave  an  inconclusive  character  to  her 
experience. 

But  now  a  puff  of  summer  wind  blew  gently  in  her 
face,  sweet  with  the  wooing  sweetness  of  a  thousand 
flowers.  She  thought  of  Lawrence.  She  looked  at  the 
figure  moving  on  before  her  •  she  looked  across  the 
sweep  of  free,  wide  fields  to  the  far,  serene,  unbounded 
sky.  It  was  with  a  delicious  thrill  of  triumph  Constance 
remembered  that  she,  too,  was  free. 

"May  one  ask  what  you  are  thinking  of?"  said 
Stuart. 

Constance  blushed.  She  blushed  and  smiled,  and 
shook  her  head.  "  You  are  riding  the  new  horse  ? "  she 
said,  interrogatively. 

"  Yes.     Shaitan." 

"  And  how  do  you  like  him,  Jack?  Hassan  was  very 
enthusiastic." 

"  Oh,  very  well.  He  's  not  accustomed  to  this  quiet 
way  of  travelling  yet,  I  fancy.  See  how  he  is  fretting  at 
the  bit.  I  shall  have  to  give  him  a  run  before  long 
to  keep  him  from  pulling  my  arms  off,"  said  Jack, 
carelessly. 

"  Look  !  "  cried  Constance,  pointing  with  the  whip. 

Two  black  and  white  storks  rose  heavily  from  out  a 
field  of  grain,  their  long  wings  flapping  and  their  red 
legs  dangling  in  the  air.  They  flew  slowly,  in  winding 


HOW  MR.  STUART  BROKE  HIS  BRIDLE.     143 

circles,  as  though  anxious  to  guard  or  watch  over  their 
nest ;  and  a  long,  waving  track  in  the  wheat,  the  quick 
apparition  of  a  sleek,  brown  head  showed  where  Lione 
was  bounding  along  in  pursuit. 

"  Hurrah  !  two  to  one  on  the  dog  !  "  cried  Jack,  gaily. 
With  a  common  impulse  they  touched  their  horses  and 
clashed  up  the  hill. 

On  the  level  ground  beyond,  Luigi  was  trotting  se 
dately  onward,  his  reins  fastened  to  his  pommel,  the  tin 
cans  flashing  and  shining  in  the  sun.  Every  now  and 
then  the  mule  would  come  to  a  standstill  and  fall  to 
tearing  up  huge,  hasty  mouthfuls  of  wheat  by  the  roots, 
until  her  master,  missing  the  tinkle  of  the  bells,  would 
rouse  himself  from  his  sleep  with  a  kick,  and  send  her 
jogging  on  again,  with  much  shaking  of  long  ears  and 
rattling  of  loose  tins. 

"  Mind  your  horse  here,"  said  Jack,  looking  back  ; 
and  as  he  spoke  his  own  horse  shied  violently  across 
the  road  and  then  stood  immovable,  trembling  and 
snorting  with  fear. 

"Out  of  the  way  there,  Luigi !  Confound  you,  man  ; 
can't  you  move  ?  Don't  you  see  Miss  Varley  cannot 
pass,"  said  Stuart,  impatiently.  Lione  had  doubled 
again  on  his  track,  the  birds  were  hidden  in  the  undula 
tion  of  the  ground. 

"  It  is  of  no  use ;  we  have  lost  them  !  "  said  Con 
stance,  looking  about  her  eagerly.  The  sharp  canter 
had  brought  the  color  to  her  cheeks  and  awakened  her 
glance  to  new  life.  "  Oh,  what  a  pity,  I  am  so  afraid 
Lione  will  be  —  " 

"  By  Jove  !  there  he  goes  now,"  said  Jack,  pointing  to 
a  slight  rise  in  the  plain  far  away  to  the  left.  "  Come 
on,  we  can  easily  cut  across  again  and  join  the  road 
farther  up." 

He  dashed  the  spurs  into  his  horse ;  cleared  the  ditch 
at  a  bound.  Before  Luigi  could  utter  a  word  of  remon 
strance  the  two  figures  were  flying  fast  across  the  upland. 

"  Oh,  this  is  glorious  !  "  Constance  cried.  The  horses 
were  quite  fresh,  and  going  with  a  will. 


144  MIRAGE. 

"  Give  Sai'd  his  head  —  don't  you  see  how  he  likes 
it  ? "  says  Jack,  looking  back  with  a  laugh. 

Down  another  dip  of  the  ground,  up  a  long  hill,  and 
on  and  on  across  the  short,  elastic  turf  to  the  quick  fall 
ing  cadence  of  the  hoof-beats,  with  the  wind  blowing 
fresh  and  wild  in  their  faces,  as  they  dash  on  faster  and 
faster  yet.  Hassan  has  always  been  proud  of  his 
choice  of  horses,  and  they  do  him  no  discredit  to-day, 
dashing  on  in  free,  measured  movement,  the  very  embodi 
ment  of  lightness  and  joyous  strength. 

"  And  Lione  ?  "  says  Constance,  at  last,  drawing  rein. 
The  wind  has  turned  her  cheeks  to  deepest  rosej  the 
blue  eyes  shine  and  laugh  with  the  sheer  exultation  of 
life.  "  And  Lione  ?  " 

They  slacken  pace  and  look  about  them.  All  sign  of 
cultivation  has  vanished  far  behind.  Before  them  rises 
a  rolling  hill  — on  either  side  a  lonely  sweep  of  undulat 
ing  ground.  They  pause  a  moment  and  listen.  They  hear 
the  deep  hurried  breathing  of  the  horses  ;  a  lark  is  sing 
ing  somewhere  in  the  profound  blue  depths  of  the  sky. 

"  Let  us  go  on  to  the  top  of  that  hill.  Perhaps  we 
may  see  something.  But  slowly  now  ;  give  the  horses  a 
chance  to  rest." 

They  move  on  at  foot  pace.  Constance  pulls  off  her 
gloves,  unfastens  her  large  felt  hat.  "  Oh,  what  a  good 
gallop  !  and  oh,  how  hot,  how  hot  I  am  !  "  she  cries 
gaily.  She  puts  her  fingers  up  to  her  burning  cheeks, 
and  turns,  and  lets  the  cool  wind  lift  and  ruffle  her  fine 
blonde  hair.  "  How  lucky  that  tiresome  Hassan  was 
not  there  to  stop  us  !  " 

"  Yes,  we  've  done  it  this  time  and  no  mistake,"  says 
Jack,  with  a  laugh.  The  hill-top  was  farther  off  than  it 
seemed  ;  a  quarter  of  an  hour  had  passed  before  they 
reached  its  summit.  Again  they  looked  around  them. 
The  low  westering  sun  struck  every  fold  of  the  ground, 
every  blade  of  grass,  with  warm  and  opulent  color.  For 
miles  and  miles  before,  behind,  about  them  the  vast 
green  plain,  the  grass-grown  battle-field  of  a  hundred 
combats,  stretched  away  in  silent  loneliness. 


HOW  MR.  STUART  BROKE  HIS  BRIDLE.     145 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  tired.  We  shall  have  to  ride 
fast  to  reach  camp  before  dark.  I  had  no  idea  we  had 
come  so  far." 

"  You  don't  think  we  ought  to  go  back  by  the  road  ?  " 

Stuart  shook  his  head.  "  Too  late.  I  tell  you  I  had 
no  idea  we  had  ridden  such  a  distance." 

"At  least  I  hope  you  know  where  camp  is?"  Con 
stance  inquired  rather  uneasily. 

"  Well,  by  George,  I  should  hope  I  did  !  A  nice  fix 
we  should  be  in  otherwise  !  "  said  Jack  smiling.  "  There, 
look  where  I  am  pointing.  You  see  that  cleft  in  the 
hills?  not  there  —  more  to  the  right.  That  is  Jezreel. 
If  it  wasn't  for  that  dip  in  the  ground  you  could  see 
the  village.  I  made  Hassan  point  it  out  to  me  this 
morning." 

"  That !  why  that  is  miles  away,"  said  Constance, 
following  the  direction  of  his  hand. 

Oh,  they  could  do  it  in  an  hour.  But  it  was  a  good 
bit,  he  admitted  cheerfully.  "  Had  they  not  better  be 
moving  on  ? "  Miss  Varley  was  afraid  that  if  they 
were  to  do  any  more  fast  riding  she  would  have  to 
trouble  Jack  to  tighten  up  the  girth.  "  I  'm  so  sorry  to 
give  you  the  trouble.  But  I  felt  something  give  way  at 
that  last  jump."  He  is  out  of  his  saddle  and  at  her 
side  before  she  has  finished  speaking. 

"Shall  I  hold  your  horse  ?" 

"  Thanks,  I  think  I  can  manage."  He  loosens  a 
buckle,  lifts  a  flap,  and  gives  a  long-drawn  whistle  of 
dismay. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Girth  broken.     You  haven't  got  a  knife,  I  suppose  ? " 

"  No." 

"  Or  a  piece  of  string  ? "  says  Jack,  despondently, 
feeling  in  all  his  pockets. 

"  I  could  give  you  my  necktie  ? " 

She  unfastens  the  ribbon  from  her  throat,  and  the 
operation  of  mending  begins.  Before  it  is  half  over 
Stuart's  horse  turns  restive,  pulls,  fidgets,  stamps,  at 
tempts  to  kick.  "  Do  let  me  hold  him.  You  can't  do 


146  MIRAGE. 

"•»<  ^ 

any  thing  with  that  creature  at  your  elbow,"  Constance 
says,  and  takes  the  impatient  animal  by  the  rein. 

It  was  five  minutes  or  more  before  the  delinquent 
strap  was  adjusted  to  Mr.  Stuart's  fancy,  and  meantime, 
far  away  behind  the  darkling  hills,  the  day  was  slowly 
dying  in  a  royal  splendor  of  flame.  When  he  looked 
up  from  his  work,  a  sudden  glory  had  fallen  upon  the 
world.  Above  their  heads  and  all  about  them  floated  a 
deepening  glow  of  fire,  as  though  the  very  air  itself 
had  turned  to  rose-red  flame. 

Constance  was  still  sitting  with  uncovered  head  j  she 
was  sitting  erect  in  her  saddle,  looking  off  at  the  (Chang 
ing  lights  with  a  vague,  mysterious  smile ;  and  to  the ' 
young  man's  fancy  all  the  radiance  of  the  sky  seemed 
centring  about  her  face,  seemed  shining  in  her  deep, 
large  eyes,  and  crowning  with  a  crown  of  warm  red  gold 
the  glorious  masses  of  her  hair.  He  stood  and  looked 
at  her  in  silence.  Said  had  dropped  his  head,  and  was 
cropping  the  grass  at  his  feet.  The  other  horse  was 
looking  anxiously  about  him,  snuffing  the  air  and  stamp 
ing.  The  intense  light  gave  a  singular  air  of  wildness 
to  his  dilated  eyes,  his  backward-streaming  mane. 

"Shall  we  go?" 

"  Go  ?  Oh  yes,  we  will  go,"  Jack  repeated,  without 
moving. 

She  looked  up  surprised,  and  met  his  eyes  fixed  upon 
hers.  His  whole  face  was  changed  —  transfigured,  as 
it  were  —  by  the  intensity,  the  fervent  adoration,  ex 
pressed  in  that  glance.  His  eyes  held  her  captive;  the 
strange,  resplendent  light  seemed  to  shut  them  out  to 
gether,  to  hold  them  in  a  world  apart ;  her  breath  came 
quick  and  quicker ;  it  seemed  a  long  while  to  Constance 
before  he  spoke. 

"  I  wish  to  heaven  I  had  never  seen  you  ! " 

Constance  turned  pale.  "I  —  am  very  sorry  —  "  she 
began,  and  then  stopped  short  and  bent  forward,  and 
began  stroking  her  horse's  neck. 

Jack  saw  her  lips  tremble.  "  Constance  !  "  He  put 
out  his  hand  appealingly,  and  checked  the  motion  of 


HOW  MR.  STUART  BROKE  HIS  BRIDLE.     147 

her  own.  "I  did  not  mean  that,  Constance.  Forgive 
me — won't  you  forgive  me,  dearest?" 

She  lifted  her  eyes  with  an  effort,  and  looked  at 
him. 

"I  —  you  are  so  beautiful.  By  heaven  !  I  don't  think 
I  know  myself  how  much  I  love  you,"  Stuart  answered, 
with  an  involuntary  tightening  of  the  fingers  about  her 
wrist. 

Mechanically  Constance  had  gathered  together  her 
reins ;  the  horses'  heads  were  on  a  level.  It  was  an 
opportunity  which  Shaitan  could  not  neglect.  In  an 
instant  he  had  seized  his  stable-companion  by  the  lips. 
They  both  reared — Jack  sprang  forward  —  a  furious 
plunge  —  a  struggle  —  a  sudden  violent  jerk  of  the  head 
—  and  Mr.  Stuart  staggered  back  on  the  turf  out  of  the 
reach  of  the  vicious  feet,  just  in  time  to  save  himself, 
and  see  his  horse  galloping  wildly  across  the  plain, 
the  broken  halter  dragging  on  the  ground  behind 
him. 

He  got  up.  He  felt  his  arm.  He  looked  first  at  the 
runaway  horse,  and  then  at  the  strap  and  buckle  remain 
ing  in  his  clutch. 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  that  leather  was  rotten  ? "  he  asked, 
with  rueful  gravity. 

The  tone,  the  expression,  the  whole  situation  were 
too  much  for  Miss  Varley's  over-taxed  nerves.  Their 
eyes  met  again,  and  with  a  common  impulse  they  broke 
into  a  peal  of  inextinguishable  laughter. 

"  No,  but  really  this  is  no  joke,"  said  Jack,  checking 
himself  abruptly.  "How  the  deuce  are  we  going  to  get 
home  ?  That 's  the  question." 

"  Yes,"  said  Constance  ;  "how  are  we  going  to  get 
home  ? " 

Again  they  looked  about  them.  From  mountain- 
range  to  mountain-range  the  vast  plain  lay,  one  trackless 
sea  of  shadow.  The  light  was  still  lingering  on  the 
hill-top ;  and  now,  for  one  brief  instant,  the  white 
houses  of  Nain  flashed  out  with  sudden  distinctness, 
and  faded  slowly  away  in  the  folding  of  the  hills.  A 


148  MIRAGE. 

long  distance  down  the  valley  a  dark  object  was  moving 
rapidly  onward  —  a  riderless  horse  —  relieving  sharply 
against  the  sky. 

"  You  don't  think  that  by  galloping  Said  at  speed  —  ?" 

Mr.  Stuart  shook  his  head.  "  There  is  not  a  horse 
in  the  camp  who  could  come  near  him.  And  then  look 
at  the  start  he  has  got  —  the  confounded  brute  !  " 

"  If  he  reaches  the  camp  before  we  do  —  he  seems  to 
be  running  in  that  direction  —  they  will  be  terribly 
frightened.  It  will  look  as  though  you  had  met  with  a 
bad  accident,"  said  Constance.  It  was  another  reason 
for  hastening  on  their  way. 

The  short  Syrian  twilight  was  well-nigh  over  before, 
they  once  more  reached  the  level  of  the  plain.  "  Have 
you  any  idea  how  we  can  possibly  find  our  way  after 
dark  ?  "  Miss  Varley  asked. 

After  a  moment's  deliberation  it  was  decided  to  follow 
in  the  direction  of  the  wind,  which  was  now  blowing 
steadily  from  the  north. 

For  the  first  half-hour  or  so  Mr.  Stuart  had  walked 
along  by  her  side,  his  hands  in  his  pockets  ;  and  both 
had  been  inclined  to  make  rather  merry  over  the 
absurdity  of  his  position.  But  as  the  evening  grew 
rapidly  darker,  when  they  could  no  longer  distinguish 
the  configuration  of  the  ground,  and  as  Said  walked 
more  uneasily,  showing  more  and  more  inclination  to 
start  at  the  lengthening  shadows,  "You  had  better  let 
me  lead  your  horse,"  Jack  said.  And  since  then  they 
had  hardly  exchanged  a  word. 

It  was  a  very  dark  night.  Above  their  heads  rose  a 
solemn,  starless  sky,  a  clear  and  sombre  dome,  marked 
here  and  there  with  moving,  darker  lines  of  cloud.  As 
their  eyes  grew  more  accustomed  to  the  blackness,  it 
was  possible  to  discern  the  more  pronounced  inequali 
ties  of  the  pathway,  and  even  the  remoter  indefinite  out 
line  of  the  hills.  All  about  them  was  darkness,  silence 
—  a  sense  of  mysterious  and  illimitable  space.  Once, 
before  they  knew  it,  they  found  themselves  traversing 
a  narrow  field  of  wheat.  The  ripe  and  restless  grain 


HOW  MR.  STUART  BROKE  HIS  BRIDLE.     149 

rustled  and  whispered  all  about  them  in  the  darkness, 
and  Mr.  Stuart  started  and  peered  anxiously  around. 

"  Provided  we  don't  run  foul  of  any  of  those  Beda- 
ween,"  the  young  man  thought,  with  rising  anxiety.  He 
glanced  up  at  his  companion,  then  hesitated,  and  checked 
himself  as  he  was  beginning  to  speak. 

As  the  silence  deepened  between  them,  a  singular 
fancy  had  taken  possession  of  Constance.  The  dark 
ness,  the  profound  stillness,  the  monotonous  motion  of 
her  horse,  served  at  once  to  soothe  and  stimulate  her 
imagination.  Naturally  fearless,  her  blind,  feminine 
trust  in  Stuart's  prowess,  her  equally  feminine  inca 
pacity  for  appreciating  different  degrees  of  danger,  pre 
vented  her  from  even  suspecting  the  possible  peril  of 
this  wild  night-ride.  She  looked  about  her,  but  it  was 
only  the  better  to  contemplate  the  veiled,  mysterious 
beauty  of  the  night.  She  lifted  up  her  eyes  —  it  was  to 
see  if  not  a  star  were  shining  in  all  that  vast  and  shad 
ow-stricken  sky.  A  strange,  a  solemn  emotion,  pos 
sessed  and  filled  her  soul.  She  sat  erect,  motionless, 
feeling  herself  a  mere  passive  atom  borne  onward  and 
onward  into  the  night ;  but  her  spirit  seemed  freed  and 
attuned  to  the  very  wildness  of  the  wind.  The  myriad 
small  preoccupations  of  these  last  weeks  faded  and  fell 
away  from  her  like  a  dream.  For  the  first  time  for  many 
days  she  felt  alone,  alone  in  spirit ;  and  with  a  wild  and 
fervent  impulse  her  heart  turned  and  clung  to  the  very 
thought  of  Lawrence.  She  looked  about  her ;  the  vast 
dim  night  was  silent  and  calm  and  mysterious  as  the 
grave.  A  deep  and  passionate  impatience  —  the  very 
sickness  of  hope  long  deferred  —  surged  in  a  bitter  flood 
about  her  overburdened  soul. 

"You  are  tired,  Constance.  I  am  sure  I  heard  you 
sigh,"  said  Jack,  tenderly. 

"  Yes,  I  am  —  tired,"  Constance  answered.  It  was 
hard  to  keep  her  voice  from  trembling  as  she  spoke. 

And  now  Said  started,  quickened  his  weary  footsteps, 
and  then  paused  and  stood  still. 

"  I  think,  by  Jove  !     I  think  we  have  struck  the  road 


ISO  MIRAGE. 

at  last,"  said  Stuart ;  and  at  the  same  moment  Coitsta"nce 
turned  her  head  and  broke  into  a  low  exclamation  of 
wonder  and  delight.  For  now  the  whole  western  sky 
was  flooded  with  pale  and  doubtful  radiance,  and  away 
behind  a  craggy  hill-top  they  saw  the  growing  splendor 
of  the  slowly-rising  moon. 

"  Yes,  this  is  the  right  road,  surely.  We  can't  be  very 
far  from  camp,  I  think."  He  hesitated  and  thought  a 
moment.  "  Yes,  I  shall  risk  it,"  he  muttered  between 
his  teeth.  "  Hold  your  horse  well  in  hand,  Constance, 
and  don't  be  startled.  I  am  going  to  fire  a  signal,  on 
the  chance  Hassan  may  hear." 

He  walked  a  few  steps  down  the  road  and  toqk  out 
his  revolver.  Three  shots  followed  each  other  in  quick 
succession,  and  seemed  to  startle  the  very  depths  of  the 
silent  night.  And  then  again  all  was  quiet,  save  the 
quick,  anxious  panting  of  the  frightened  horse.  They 
waited  several  minutes  ;  gradually  Said  grew  quiet  again, 
and  yet  no  answering  signal  came. 

"  Well,  it  was  a  chance,"  said  Stuart,  uneasily. 
"Hark!"  They  strained  their  ears  to  listen. 

"  I  am  sure  —  yes  —  I  am  sure  I  hear  hoof-beats," 
said  Constance,  almost  in  a  whisper. 

And  now  it  was  easy  to  see  that  Said,  too,  had  heard 
them ;  he  started,  pricked  up  his  ears,  and  snuffed 
eagerly  at  the  wind. 

"  They  are  several  horsemen.  They  are  galloping 
fast.  They  are  coming  this  way.  I  can  hear  them  quite 
distinctly,"  said  Constance,  with  rising  excitement.  "  Oh, 
Jack,  are  you  not  glad  ?  Hassan  has  found  us  at  last. 
Don't  you  hear  them,  Jack  ?  It  is  Hassan  !  " 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Stuart.  He  conies  closer  to  her  and 
stands  beside  her  horse.  "  I  hate  to  have  to  tell  you  of 
it,  Constance  "  —  the  words  came  out  with  reluctance  — 
"but  I  must.  It  is  not  Hassan.  The  men  are  coming 
the  wrong  way.  Hush  !  "  he  says,  with  sudden  emphasis, 
and  seizes  Said  by  the  bridle. 

"But,  Jack  —  " 

"  The  Bedaween,"  says  Stuart,  in  a  warning  whisper. 


BY   THE   WATERS  OF  GALILEE.         151 

The  strange  horsemen  are  coming  on  at  full  gallop  ; 
already  they  can  distinguish  a  small  confused  mass  mov 
ing  rapidly  across  the  plain.  On  the  farther  side  from 
where  they  stand  a  high  bank  shelters  and  conceals  the 
road.  For  a  moment  the  pursuers  seem  pressing  farther 
on.  They  hold  their  breath  in  silence,  crouching  back 
into  the  shade.  But  as  the  strange  horses  pass  abreast, 
Sai'd  starts  forward  with  a  low  whinny  of  recognition. 
The  enemy  halts ;  wheels  about  ;  a  moment's  parley  ; 
and  then  as  Stuart  walks  boldly  forward,  a  single  figure 
detaches  itself  from  the  group,  and  at  the  same  moment 
the  young  man  sees  a  long,  tufted  spear  relieving  sharply 
against  the  low-hanging  moon,  and  hears  a  menacing, 
guttural  voice  challenging  his  right  to  pass. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

BY   THE   WATERS    OF   GALILEE. 

STUART  knew  one  word  of  Arabic  ;  he  used  it.  He 
walked  deliberately  forward,  keeping  his  eyes  fixed 
upon  his  interlocutor.  "  Backshish,"  he  said,  with  con 
ciliatory  intonation.  The  Bedawy  halted.  Stuart  took 
another  step  forward.  The  Bedawy  wheeled  about  his 
horse,  lowered  his  lance.  Jack's  fingers  fell  carelessly 
upon  the  handle  of  the  pistol  in  his  belt.  "  Backshish  ; 
Jezreel  ?  "  he  repeated,  in  an  encouraging  voice.  Then 
with  deep  conviction  of  the  necessity  of  saying  something, 
and  a  desperate  relapse  into  the  vernacular:  -"I  don't 
suppose  you  want  to  get  into  trouble,  my  friend,"  he 
remarked  cheerfully.  "  That 's  a  very  neat  little  affair 
of  yours,  that  lance,  I  daresay  ;  but  if  you  would  kindly 
keep  it  rather  more  out  of  the  conversation  —  " 

The  full  moon  had  risen  high  enough  to  outline  his 
adversary  in  sharpest  silhouette  against  the  sky.  He 
saw  the  man  rise  in  his  stirrups  and  look  about  him. 


152  MIRAGE. 

He  saw  the  light  catch  and  run  down  the  thin,*bla*ck 
length  of  spear.  The  Bedawy  turned  in  his  saddle  ;  a 
wild,  hoarse  cry  of  command  ;  a  sudden  move  forward 
of  all  the  waiting  horsemen  ;  a  pause  ;  a  short  parley. 
Two  muffled  figures  detached  themselves  from  the  group 
and  rode  slowly  forward. 

"Now  don't  let  your  friends  excite  themselves  with 
too  much  riding,"  said  Stuart  recklessly.  He  spoke 
loud  enough  for  Constance  to  hear  him.  "  But,  by 
Jove  !  I  'd  give  something  to  be  well  out  of  this,"  the 
young  man  thought.  The  reinforcement  was  approach 
ing  with  deliberate  composure.  It  looked  decidedly 
unpleasant. 

Another  moment,  and  the  foremost  rider  had  halted 
directly  in  front  of  Jack.  He  halted,  leaned  forward, 
threw  back  the  folds  of  his  long,  loose  Arab  cloak.  To 
Stuart's  inexpressible  astonishment  he  laughed  ;  he  held 
out  his  hand. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Stuart  ?  I  'm  very  glad  to  see 
you  again  ;  but,  if  it 's  a  fair  question,  I  should  like  to 
know  what  the  devil  you  are  doing  here  ?  "  remarked 
this  midnight  assassin. 

And  five  minutes  later  found  them  all  riding  on  to 
gether  along  the  Jezreel  road.  It  was  only  a  mile  or  so 
to  camp  ;  the  Bedawy  guide  could  walk  ;  Stuart  should 
take  his  horse.  The  fellow  deserved  some  punishment 
for  having  frightened  Miss  Varley,  Mr.  Ferris  averred 
politely.  "  Yes ;  we  heard  your  shots.  We  thought 
some  one  was  getting  into  trouble,"  the  gentleman 
riding  beside  Constance  remarked.  "  You  will  allow  me 
to  introduce  my  friend,  Mr.  Davenant?"  said  Ferris.  In 
a  few  words  Mr.  Davenant  explained  the  situation. 

"  I  persuaded  Ferris  to  come  across  by  night.  The 
men  wanted  to  wait  for  the  moon.  But  I  thought  it 
would  be  a  finer  sensation  to  see  it  rising  from  out  the 
darkness  and  from  behind  the  hills.  It  was  really  a 
very  happy  inspiration  of  Mr.  Stuart's  —  that  firing. 
Our  men  declared  we  were  attacked  by  Bedaween.  It 
gave  us  a  fine,  dramatic  effect." 


BY  THE    WATERS  OF  GALILEE.         153 

"  Dramatic  ?  It  was  dramatic  enough,  certainly," 
said  Constance. 

"  But  you  were  frightened,  perhaps  ?  Ah,  you  will  ap 
preciate  the  value  of  the  sensation  better  when  you  look 
back  at  it.  It  was  a  point,  don't  you  see  ?  a  situation  ; 
an  accent.  And  next  to  having  a  great  sorrow  —  which, 
of  course,  is  the  finest  experience  —  I  think  accenting 
one's  existence,  multiplying  one's  emotions,  heightening, 
intensifying  the  quality  of  one's  sensations  —  " 

Miss  Varley  turned  and  looked  at  her  companion. 

He  had  taken  off  his  hat.  The  moonlight  streamed 
full  and  clear  upon  his  face.  That  face  was  almost  an 
anachronism.  It  was  like  one  of  Holbein's  portraits  ; 
a  pale,  large-featured,  individual  ;  a  peculiar,  an  inter 
esting  countenance,  of  singularly  mild  yet  ardent  expres 
sion.  Mr.  Davenant  was  very  young  —  probably  not 
more  than  one  or  two  and  twenty  ;  but  he  looked 
younger.  He  wore  his  hair  rather  long,  thrown  back, 
and  clustering  about  his  neck  like  the  hair  of  a  mediaeval 
saint.  He  spoke  with  rapidity,  in  a  low  voice,  with 
peculiarly  distinct  enunciation ;  he  spoke  like  a  man 
who  made  a  study  of  expression.  He  listened  like  one 
accustomed  to  speak. 

"  But  a  great  sorrow,  Mr.  Davenant  —  " 

"  Ah,  that  is  the  supreme  experience,  of  course  ;  over 
powering  sorrow  suppresses  civilization  ;  -it  links  a  man 
to  all  the  eternal  verities  of  life.  If  I  were  a  mother," 
said  the  young  man,  fervently,  "  if  I  were  a  mother,  I 
should  wish  to  have  at  least  one  of  my  sons  meet 
with  a  tragic,  a  heroic  death.  I  should  wish  him  to 
be  slain  in  battle.  There  would  be  something  so  sub 
lime  in  one's  despair.  Great  sorrow  —  perhaps  great 
joy  — "  The  horse  stumbled  and  recovered  himself 
cleverly. 

"There  he  goes!  Davenant  never  will  attend  to 
what  he  is  doing.  He  's  been  off  twice  to-night  already," 
said  Ferris,  with  a  laugh. 

"  Can't  ride  ?  " 

"  Oh,  forgets  all  about  it !     Thinks  of  something  he  's 


154  AffRAGE. 

been  reading,  and  mistakes  his  horse  for  a  bookcase  Tor 
all  I  know." 

"  What  is  he  —  English  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  an  Oxford  man.  Young  Oxford,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing,  don't  you  know  ?  A  sort  of  early 
Christian  brought  down  to  date,  and  adapted  —  like  a 
restored  church.  But  a  capital  fellow,  for  all  that. 
We  've  been  travelling  together  for  the  last  six  weeks, 
and  the  more  I  know  him  the  more  I  —  Davenant ! 
I  say,  Davenant !  " 

"  Well  ? " 

"  That 's  the  turn  there  —  to  the  left." 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  Mr.  Davenant.  He  wenj  on 
talking  to  Constance.  He  was  speaking  to  her  of 
Greece,  of  Athens  —  the  city  of  the  early  morning  — 
rising  in  the  cool,  pale,  steady  light  of  dawn,  a  new 
Aphrodite,  from  out  the  lapping  circle  of  the  waves. 
He  spoke  to  her  of  the  Parthenon,  the  one  temple  — 
not  a  building  —  a  temple,  as  complete,  as  personal,  as 
a  statue.  And  that  first  sight  of  the  Acropolis,  the 
delicate,  naked  columns  rising  up  in  the  morning  sun 
shine  :  "  It  was  like  coming  upon  some  white  Greek 
goddess.  It  made  one  feel  —  " 

"Hurrah!  I  see  a  light.  Yes,  there  are  the  tents!" 
cried  Stuart,  pressing  forward.  And  there  indeed  was 
camp,  and  loud-mouthed  welcome  from  Lione,  and  all 
the  rumor  and  excitement  of  return. 

"  Hassan  is  still  out  looking  for  you.  O  Constance, 
I  have  been  so  anxious !  I  have  been  quite  wild  ;  as-k 
Tom.  And  Shaitan  has  come  home  without  his  saddle  ; 
I  thought  I  should  faint  when  I  saw  him  coming  in. 
Tom  wanted  to  go  and  look  for  you,  but  of  course  I 
would  not  let  him  go.  I  cannot  endure  to  be  left  alone," 
said  Fanny,  sinking  back  into  her  chair.  "  Thank  you, 
Mr.  Ferris  ;  oh,  never  mind  the  cushion  now.  I  am 
sure,"  she  said,  smiling  very  sweetly,  and  leaning  her 
graceful  little  head  against  the  chair,  "  I  am  sure  that 
you  fortunate  people  who  have  no  nerves  —  " 

"  But  perhaps  Mr.  Ferris  will  stay  and  dine  with  us, 


BY  THE    WATERS  OF  GALILEE.         155 

Fanny.  Oh,  your  tents  are  close  by,  next  door  in  fact. 
It  won't  be  any  trouble  to  you,  and  I  'm  sure  we  shall  be 
very  happy  to  have  you  stay  —  and  your  friend,"  the 
Major  interposed  eagerly. 

And  after  dinner  this  eagerness  was  explained.  "  I 
have  not  brought  any  thing  with  me  really.  That  port 
folio  ?  oh,  there  is  nothing  much  in  that,"  Mr.  Ferris 
had  answered  with  some  reluctance.  He  had  been 
turning  over  a  pile  of  the  Major's  drawings  for  the  last 
half-hour,  with  civil  and  appropriate  commentary.  And 
Davenant  was  never  of  any  use  on  an  emergency  like 
this. 

But  presently,  as  Mrs.  Thayer  was  rapturously  and 
quickly  examining  the  contents  of  the  portfolio  :  "  Those 
are  worth  looking  at.  I  had  forgotten  I  had  them  with 
me,"  he  said,  and  leaned  over  and  laid  some  sheets  of 
drawing-paper  on  the  table.  "  Designs  for  two  com 
panion  pictures  —  the  Plain  of  Esdraelon,  you  see. 
They  are  by  —  by  a  friend  of  mine  ;  a  man  I  know  in 
Damascus." 

"  Ah,  yes ;  I  see.  Not  your  own  work  then,"  said 
Fanny,  and  passed  them  by  with  charming  nonchalance. 

"  Will  you  show  them  to  me  ?  "  said  Constance. 

Both  were  unfinished  sketches.  The  first  was  a  study 
of  a  woman — a  low-browed  Syrian  peasant-woman  — 
standing  in  the  doorway,  one  strong  arm  thrust  behind 
her,  dragging  together  the  black  folds  of  the  tent.  A 
little  child  was  clinging,  unheeded,  by  her  side.  Beyond 
the  figure  stretched  the  level  fields,  and  all  her  face  was 
lighted  up  with  the  strange  glow  of  an  unseen  sunset  — 
that  thin,  common  face  transfigured,  grown  terrible  and 
wild  with  recollection  of  past  and  ineffaceable  horror. 

And  underneath  the  drawing  was  written:  "And  Sis- 
era  said  unto  her,  Stand  in  the  door  of  the  tent,  and  it 
shall  be,  when  any  man  doth  come  and  inquire  of  thee, 
and  say,  Is  there  any  man  here  ?  that  thou  shalt  answer, 
No." 

Constance  drew  a  long  breath.  She  looked  up.  "  I 
like  it,"  she  said  simply. 


156  MIRAGE. 

"  And  this,"  said  Ferris  — "will  you  know  what  this 
one  means?" 

It  was  the  same  low-lying  plain,  by  night.  A  wild, 
tumultuous  sky,  torn  with  sharp  lines  of  stormy  light ;  a 
dark  hill-ridge  ;  the  uncertain  outline  of  a  tall,  muffled 
figure,  "taller  than  any  other  of  the  people  from  the 
shoulders  and  upward  ; "  and,  farther  on,  two  other 
shadows  stealing  through  the  night.  And  next  to  it, 
roughly  divided  off  by  a  mere  charcoal  scratch  across 
the  paper,  another  study  of  the  principal  figure.  A 
man's  face,  looking  out  against  the  dawn  —  large,  noble 
features,  with  eyes  shadowed  by  the  falling  folds 'of 
the  Arab  head-dress,  with  proud  and  patient  mouthu;  a 
young  and  kingly  face,  grown  pale  and  wan  with  suf 
fering  and  great  weariness,  and  strange  foreshadowing 
of  doom. 

George  Ferris  was  very  much  pleased  with  the  girl's 
manner  of  examining  this  work.  Hitherto  he  had  not 
paid  very  much  attention  to  her  perhaps  ;  but  now  he 
.turned  and  favored  her  with  a  perfectly  respectful  and 
perfectly  exhaustive  survey.  Few  details  escape  the 
interested  eye  of  an  artist ;  but  for  all  that,  the  next 
morning  he  became  convinced  that  there  had  been  still 
another  discovery  to  make. 

It  was  still  very  early  in  the  morning.  The  fresh  and 
dewy  fields  were  hardly  shining  yet  in  the  first  level 
rays  of  the  sun ;  a  thin,  blue  smoke  was  only  now  begin 
ning  to  float  above  the  double  line  of  tents,  and  the  air 
was  yet  cool  with  the  coolness  of  night. 

But  lower  down  the  hill  there  was  plenty  of  sound 
and  life  and  confusion  —  a  noisy,  clattering  circle  of 
baggage-mules,  jangling  with  bells  and  gay  with  colored 
trappings,  crowding  thirstily  about  the  flower-choked 
well  ;  and  nearer  camp,  a  long  line  of  horses  were  being 
driven  up  the  road.  The  young  men  stood  and  criticised 
them  as  they  trotted  by. 

"That  wasn't  a  bad  nag  of  yours  —  the  one  you  lent 
me  last  night,  Ferris." 

"The  sheikh  has  a  better  one,  though.     Those  fel- 


BY  THE   WATERS  OF  GALILEE.         l$7 

lows  always  get  the  best  of  every  thing,"  said  Ferris, 
philosophically. 

"  Hollo  !  why,  they  are  saddling  Miss  Varley's  horse 
already !  We  seem  to  be  going  to  make  an  early  start 
of  it  this  morning,"  said  Jack. 

They  walked  over  through  the  wet  grass  to  where  the 
grooms  were  bringing  out  the  saddles. 

"  The  fact  is,  Hassan,  you  ought  to  be  most  uncom 
monly  obliged  to  me  for  not  having  massacred  you  in 
cold  blood  last  night,"  Stuart  remarked  conversationally. 

Hassan  seemed  very  much  offended. 

"  Well,  sir,  I  've  been  dragoman  thirty  years,  sir ;  and 
my  father,  he  dragoman  before  me  —  " 

"  Oh,  was  he,  though  ?  That  explains.  I  could  not 
for  the  life  of  me  imagine  where  you  had  got  hold  of 
such  a  precious  lot  of  rotten  old  saddles  ;  but  of  course, 
if  they're  family  relics —  I  say,  just  tell  that  man  to 
mind  what  he's  about,  will  you?  Those  girths  are  not 
half  properly  strapped." 

"  Miss  Constance  knows  how  to  ride,"  said  Hassan 
sulkily. 

"  Miss  Constance  shall  not  run  the  chance  of  being 
thrown  while  /can  help  it,"  said  the  young  man  coolly. 
"  And  what  is  that  ?  " 

It  was  a  bit  of  black  ribbon  hanging  down  from  Miss 
Varley's  saddle. 

"Oh,  I  see.  The  thing  I  used  last  night  to  mend 
your  jolly  old  strap,"  he  said,  indifferently.  He  hesi 
tated  a  moment,  patted  the  horse  on  the  neck,  unfast 
ened  the  ribbon,  and  put  it  deliberately  in  his  pocket. 

"  A  wise  provision  against  future  contingencies  is  the 
test  of  the  sage,"  observed  Ferris,  gravely,  knocking  the 
ashes  out  of  his  pipe. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  ;  it  may  be  useful,"  said  Jack,  in 
a  very  off-hand  manner. 

Mr.  Ferris  smiled.     He  had  drawn  his  conclusions. 

And,  still  in  the  early  morning,  they  set  out  for 
Nazareth.  To-day,  for  the  first  time,  the  crimson  and 
white  and  gold  of  the  flowers  was  relieved  by  patches  of 


158  MIRAGE. 

"»-.  *•'• 

tall,  pale  primroses.  And  then,  beyond  the  stony  moun 
tain-path,  they  came  upon  the  ancient  cacti  hedges 
girdling  about  the  town.  So  old  are  they,  so  massive 
and  impenetrable  is  the  close  rampart  of  their  flat- 
palmed  branches,  they  seem  to  have  been  there  from 
the  very  beginning  of  things,  and  to  have  started  from 
the  mother  nursery  of  some  elder  world.  Like  some 
unholy  genii  —  cruel,  inactive,  unfamiliar  —  they  stare 
weirdly  out  at  the  life  defiling  before  them,  century  after 
century.  They  bear  an  uncanny  fruit  the  native  chil 
dren  relish.  "But  then,  have  we  not  seen  them  eating 
grass  ?  "  asks  Fanny,  with  a  yawn.  It  has  been  a  long 
ride,  and  Mrs.  Thayer  is  tired.  They  leave  the  bteak 
and  stony  defile  behind  them,  they  climb  the  road,  they 
come  full  upon  this  small,  gray  village  spread  upon  the 
hillside;  and  still  they  can  feel  nothing  but  its  insignifi 
cance,  its  barrenness,  its  dirt. 

And  later  on,  with  the  tents  pitched  on  high  ground 
near  the  olive-grove  —  looking  down  upon  the  convents, 
upon  the  church-roofs,  the  huddled  houses,  the  long, 
blank  road  that  seemed  to  be  leading  nowhere  —  this 
same  impression  endures. 

And  it  is  only  at  night,  when  the  shadows  have  massed 
and  simplified  the  broken  outlines  of  the  small,  pale 
hills  —  it  is  only  at  night,  when  a  yellow  sunset  is 
dying  away  behind  the  distant  mountains  ;  when  the 
voices  of  the  women  by  the  Virgin's  Fountain  come 
floating  softly  up  through  the  silent,  gray  evening,  and 
the  air  is  sweet  with  the  smell  of  the  small  common 
flowers  in  the  grass  —  it  is  only  then,  I  say,  that  they 
can  feel  any  charm  in  melancholy,  abject  Nazareth. 

Once  more  they  started  in  the  early  morning.  Once 
more  they  saw  the  Mediterranean  —  a  deep,  blue  line 
between  the  mountain  summits  of  the  farther  range  — 
once  more  they  rode  across  the  plains.  And  what  a 
lovely  dream  is  spring  in  that  most  lovely  country ! 
The  flower-covered  slopes  rose  up  before  them,  break 
ing  in  billows  of  color  against  the  tender  sky  ;  white 
cranes  started  from  the  tall  grass  through  which  they 


BY  THE    WATERS  OF  GALILEE.        159 

waded  ;  from  far-off  woods  the  cuckoo's  voice  came  thin 
and  floating  on  the  wind. 

And  all  day  long  they  rode  in  strange  and  silent 
solitude.  From  Nazareth  to  Galilee  is  but  deserted 
space.  Only,  at  long  intervals,  you  see  or  pass  some 
lonely  village,  perched  like  a  well-guarded  nest  on  the 
edge  of  the  precipice  ;  and  then  again  for  miles  and  miles 
of  sunny  silence  it  is  as  though  some  mighty  storm-wind 
had  swept  all  life  away  —  with  Nature  left,  the  only  sover 
eign,  of  space. 

The  afternoon  was  waning  when  they  came  in  sigh* 
of  the  Sea  of  Galilee.  The  great  flanks  of  the  hills 
dropped  clown,  somewhat  abruptly,  to  the  lake.  The 
whole  character  of  the  landscape  was  large  and  simple 
and  bare ;  no  trees  breaking  the  great,  flowing  lines  of 
the  hills.  After  a  somewhat  rapid  descent  —  too  rapid 
for  Fanny's  heavy  palanquin  —  they  came  upon  the  flat 
stretch  of  sand  reaching  to  the  old  walls,  the  crumbling 
towers  of  Tiberias.  The  old  city  has  shrunk  to  a  few 
squalid  huts,  rising  brokenly  above  the  fields  of  burning 
bloom  ;  and  without  the  curiosity'of  passing  through  it 
the  little  cavalcade  pushed  on  to  where  the  camp  had 
been  pitched  by  the  shore  of  the  lake,  some  half-hour's 
ride  beyond  the  town. 

It  was  a  memorable  ride  to  Constance.  It  was  by 
Galilee !  The  sad,  gray  water  lapped  the  shore  ;  the 
Moabite  hills  rose  low  against  a  sad,  gray  sky ;  the  air 
was  a  little  chilly  —  just  enough  to  make  you  shrink 
into  yourself.  They  were  all  tired  ;  no  fund  of  animal 
spirits  was  left,  and  precisely  on  this  account  —  because 
physical  being  was  so  quiescent  —  mind  and  spirit  rose 
unobstructed  by  the  mere  accidents  of  travel,  and  were 
left  to  brood,  as  it  were,  over  the  few  great  facts  that 
consecrate  the  hill-slopes  and  the  Sea  of  Galilee. 

Constance  looked  about  her  on  that  quiet  evening, 
over  the  idle  wavelets  along  the  lonely  shore,  to  the  cold 
shade  of  the  nearer  hills,  thrusting  their  rocky  flanks 
into  the  very  water.  She  tried  to  realize  the  serene 
presence  of  the  Galilean  —  the  simple  fishermen  —  the 


160  MIRAGE. 

'}**-  " 
storm  on  the  lake  —  the  sleeping  master  —  the  disciple 

sinking  in  the  waves.  She  thought  of  the  eager  multi 
tudes  pouring  out  of  that  crowded  city  where  now  only 
the  flowers  of  the  field  flaunted  and  flamed  above  the 
ruined  walls.  An  infinite  sadness  filled  her  soul  —  the 
sadness  of  youth,  of  nature,  of  religion  —  the  helpless 
stretching  out  of  feeble  hands.  She  looked  abstracted ; 
her  impassioned,  wide-eyed  glance  wandered  from  shore 
to  shore,  from  sea  to  sky,  unmindful  of  her  companions. 
She  felt  for  the  moment  alone.  Could  she  hear,  that 
voice  ?  Could  her  spirit  know  the  presence  of  that  Di 
vine  Goodness  who  walked  and  taught  in  the  shadow  of 
these  everlasting  hills,  by  the  waters  of  that  plashing 
sea?  The  very  doors  of  her  being  seemed  open  to  all 
the  infinite  possibilities  of  faith. 

It  was  but  for  a  moment,  but  in  such  moments  the  soul 
grows.  Touched  with  tenderness,  athirst  for  something 
to  satisfy  it,  exalted  by  poetry  and  religion,  she  stood  by 
the  waters  of  Galilee. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

SCHON-ROHTRAUT. 

THE  lake-shore  was  covered  with  long,  white  rows 
of  tents. 

"  Oh,  I  think  we  shall  find  a  great  many  people  here 
to-day,"  said  Fanny,  with  a  pleased  expression  in  her 
eyes. 

She  drew  back  the  curtain  of  the  litter ;  picked  up 
a  book  that  had  fallen;  settled  her  cuff;  put  her  hat 
straight  upon  her  head.  "  If  you  will  take  away  those 
flowers  from  the  mules'  harness,  Tom  ?  I  don't  want  to 
look  like  a  picnic." 

Some  ladies  were  crossing  the  beach  to  their  encamp 
ment.  They  looked  up  curiously  as  the  new  comers 


SCHON-ROHTRA  UT.  1 6 1 

came  in  sight ;  and,  even  at  this  distance,  there  was  some 
thing  familiar  in  the  aspect  of  the  stout,  gray  dresses, 
the  strong  and  serviceable  white  umbrellas  they  carried 
in  their  hands. 

"It  is  —  it  must  be  —  Constance,  it  is  the  Vaughan- 
Smythes  !  "  said  Fanny,  springing  to  her  feet.  And  then 
there  followed  much  hand-shaking  and  loud  recognition 
and  greeting  by  the  shore. 

"  But  you  must  have  travelled  very  fast  to  have  over 
taken  us  ?  "  Mrs.  Vaughan-Smythe  remarked  that  even 
ing  to  Mrs.  Thayer.  "  As  for  ourselves,  Mahmoud  has 
turned  out  to  be  a  perfect  treasure  so  far.  We  have  en 
joyed  our  trip  so  much.  We  have  saved  twelve  hours 
already.  Twelve  hours,  without  counting  the  three  Sun 
days,  since  we  left  Jerusalem.  You  make  it  a  point  to 
stop  over  every  Sunday,  of  course  ?  " 

And  Fanny  smiled  amiably  in  reply. 

"  Oh,  we  have  had  such  adventures  !  "  she  said,  in 
her  clear,  rapid  treble ;  "  oh,  dear  Mrs.  Smythe,  if  you 
could  only  have  been  with  us  yesterday  !  " 

"  Yes ;  it  is  very  interesting,  of  course.  We  have 
been  here  ever  since  four  o'clock.  We  wanted  to  come 
early  to  secure  the  best  places  and  make  sure  of  having 
fish  for  breakfast  to-morrow.  Of  course  that  is  what 
one  thinks  of  first  at  Galilee  —  the  fish,"  Miss  Adela 
Smythe  was  saying  to  Constance. 

"  And  when  did  you  leave  Nablous  then,  Mr.  Stuart  ?  " 
the  pretty  sister  asked  Jack. 

"  Nablous  ?  Let  me  see.  This  is  Friday  — •  what, 
Saturday,  is  it  ?  Ah,  well  then,  we  left  Nablous  four  days 
ago.  *We  got  there  on  a  Monday  morning." 

"On  Monday  morning?  But  you  must  have  been 
travelling  Sunday  to  reach  there  so  soon,"  said  their 
hostess,  in  very  positive  fashion. 

Fanny  smiled.  She  was  intensely  annoyed.  "  For 
one  never  can  tell  what  they  will  think  of  us  for  doing  it," 
she  complained  to  Tom  in  the  privacy  of  their  own  tent. 

The  Major  was  not  sympathetic.  "  It  was  all  a  differ 
ence  of  nationality,"  he  said  deliberately,  eying  his  wife 


1 62  MIRAGE. 

with  some  amusement.  Fanny  should  have  remembered 
that  the  Smythes  were  English,  and  that  an  Englishman 
would  as  soon  leave  his  bath-tub  at  home  as  his  con 
science.  "They  haven't  our  loose,  easy,  American 
fashion  of  travelling  without  baggage,  and  keeping  a 
running  account  with  Providence,"  said  the  Major,  phil 
osophically.  And  Fanny  was  very  much  offended. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday.  "  She  was  going  to  hear 
service  —  they  were  all  going  to  hear  service  —  in  the 
Vaughan-Smythes'  tent,"  she  remarked  coldly.  "  If 
they  were  heathens,  as  Tom  seemed  to  infer  —  and, 
indeed,  the  way  I  hear  you  talking  to  Constance  some 
times  would  make  one  believe  you  were  not  far  wro«g  — . 
if  they  were  heathens,"  Mrs.  Thayer  said  with  plaintive 
emphasis,  "at  least  —  at  least  it  could  not  be  said  she 
ever  neglected  to  take  advantage  of  such  opportunities 
as  came  in  her  way." 

And  "  That  you  don't,  my  dear,"  said  the  Major  with 
a  grin. 

It  was,  perhaps,  in  consequence  of  this  conversation, 
that  the  Thayer  party  were  so  very  punctual  the  next 
morning. 

"  How  do  you  do  ?  ah,  Mr.  Stuart,  how  are  you  ?  I 
did  not  see  you  before.  Fine  weather,  isn't  it  ?  Yes  ; 
we  shall  have  quite  a  little  congregation  this  morning. 
Brought  your  camp-stools  with  you,  I  hope  ?  That 's 
right  —  that's  right,"  said  Mr.  Smythe,  weightily,  hold 
ing  out  his  large,  white  hand. 

Mr.  Smythe  was  a  large,  portly  man,  of  severe  aspect 
and  indefinite  mind.  But  this  latter  fact  was  of  the  less 
consequence  to  him,  possibly,  that  it  did  not  prevent  his 
possessing  large,  regular  features,  regular  whiskers,  a 
lofty,  shining  forehead,  and  a  large,  sonorous  voice  —  an 
imposing  combination  of  attributes  which  had  long  since 
caused  him  to  adopt  a  parliamentary  career.  He  had 
the  reputation  of  being  very  popular  in  the  House. 

Miss  Adela  greeted  the  new  comers  with  momentary 
enthusiasm.  "Oh,  did  you  have  fish  for  breakfast?" 
she  asked,  eagerly. 


SCHON-ROHTRA  UT.  163 

"  No,"  said  Constance,  smiling. 

"  No  ?  Only  fancy  !  Why,  our  dragoman  got  up  be 
fore  daylight  to  secure  it ;  he  said  he  had  bought  it  all." 

"  Ah,  Mahmoud  is  a  sharp  fellow,"  said  her  father 
with  decorous  exultation. 

And  presently  the  service  began. 

From  the  place  where  Constance  sat  she  could  see 
the  rippling  play  of  the  water,  foaming  and  breaking 
about  a  bed  of  small  shells,  worn  thin  and  white  by  the 
waves  ;  and,  far  across  the  lake,  floated  a  vision  of 
solemn  mountain  summits,  lifting  one  above  the  other, 
crowned  with  the  radiant  morning  light.  Involuntarily 
her  attention  wandered.  She  glanced  about  the  room. 
She  caught  Stuart's  eye,  and  a  half  smile  passed  over 
her  lips  at  sight  of  his  sleek,  brushed  head  and  gen 
eral  expression  of  decorous  melancholy.  She  looked  at 
the  doorway  where  Mahmoud  sat  in  respectful  discom 
fort.  "  We  were  determined  to  have  a  Christian  drago 
man  for  the  Holy  Land,"  said  Mrs.  Vaughan-Smythe, 
"and  we  got  him  quite  as  cheap."  And  then  a  wistful 
look  stole  into  the  beautiful  eyes  gazing  out  at  that 
peaceful  sea. 

It  was  now  about  ten  o'clock.  The  thin,  gray  mist 
had  lifted  from  the  lake,  a  cool,  light  breeze  ruffled  the 
water  to  a  deeper  blue  ;  through  the  voice  of  the  reader 
she  could  hear,  quite  plainly,  the  low  wash  of  the  waves 
upon  the  shore.  Some  one  proposed  a  walk  after  the 
service.  There  were  more  people  out  upon  the  beach, 
and  they  strolled  by  more  than  one  family  group  picking 
flowers  for  remembrance,  or  busily  collecting  shells. 
But  presently  they  had  left  the  line  of  tents  behind  them, 
and  now  they  entered  on  a  long  and  lonely  stretch  of 
sand. 

Perhaps  it  was  this  very  loneliness  which  prompted 
them  to  look  with  something  more  than  ordinary  curi 
osity  at  a  tall  and  solitary  figure,  dressed  in  black, 
seated  upon  a  rock,  her  head  resting  upon  her  hand, 
gazing  out  to  sea.  There  was  a  great  expression  of 
sadness  on  the  pale,  fine  features  and  in  the  listless  pose. 


1 64  MIRAGE. 

">-•-.  •" 

"  What  a  beautiful  face,  and  how  unhappy  !  "  said  Con 
stance,  with  quick  sympathy. 

"  It  is  Lady  Janet  Blank.  No,  I  do  not  know  her — • 
personally.  She  has  had  a  great  deal  of  trouble  with 
her  husband,  I  hear  ;  and  I  fancy  there  is  something,  ah 

—  something  rather  fishy  about  her,"  said  Mrs.  Vaughan- 
Smythe,  with  a  deprecatory  smile. 

"  Ah,"  said  Fanny,  gravely  ;  "  ah,  really.  How  very 
painful.  So  glad  you  warned  me  of  it.  Constance  — 
Miss  Varley  —  was  speaking  to  her  little  girl  only  this 
morning.  And  one  can  never  be  too  careful,  you  know." 

"  Poor  thing  !  "  said  Constance  in  her  gentlest  Voice. 
She  looked  up  at  the  brilliant  gladness  of  the  day*  and. 
back  at  the  lonely  figure  on  the  shore  of  that  sea  where 
the  weak,  the  helpless,  the  sinking  had  heard  the  voice 
of  a  Friend.     "  Poor  thing,  I  should  like  to  ask  her —  " 

"  My  dear  Constance  !  " 

"  But  really,  Miss  Varley,  you  know  —  " 

"  What,  don't  you  mean  to  stop  at  Magdala,  Mr.  Stuart  ? 
Only  fancy  !  Why,  I  would  not  miss  Magdala  for  any 
thing." 

"  Because  of  Mary  Magdalene  ?  But  surely  wasn't 
there  something  rather  fishy  about  her?  "  inquired  Con 
stance  gravely. 

Miss  Smythe  looked  up  in  genuine  surprise. 

"  Oh,  really,  you  Americans  are  so  very  odd,  you 
know." 

And  her  father  quite  agreed  with  her. 

"  A  very  worthy  people,  my  dear  ;  young  —  very  young 

—  but  worthy.     I  will  not  say  —  I  should   hesitate   to 
say  —  they   are   a   nation    without   a  future,"  said    that 
gentleman  magnanimously;    "but  there  is  a  shocking 
spirit  of  levity  about  the  true  American  ;    an  entire  ab 
sence  of  weight,  you  mark  me — of  weight  —  which  — 
ah,  which —     They  are  a  glib  people,  I  don't  deny  it, 
but  essentially  slight,  my  dear,  essentially  slight.     They 
have  no  real  conversation  ;    not  what  I  call  conversa 
tion,"  said  Mr.  Smythe. 

He  spoke  with   some   asperity,  and   his  words  were 


SCHON-ROHTRA  UT.  165 

followed  by  appropriate  silence.  It  was  only  after  a 
long  pause  that  his  wife  looked  up  from  her  book. 

"  Very  good  dinner  we  had  to-day,  my  dear,"  she 
observed  thoughtfully. 

"  Very,  my  dear,  very,"  said  Mr.  Vaughan-Smythe  in 
his  most  sonorous  tones. 

It  was  early  the  next  morning  when  Constance  came 
out  of  her  tent.  The  weather  had  changed  for  the 
worse.  There  was  a  wan  and  chilly  light  on  the  moun 
tains  now,  the  air  was  cold  and  still,  and  the  only  sound 
in  the  morning  was  the  moan  of  the  gray  and  restless 
sea.  But  even  if  the  young  day  came  in  pale  and  color 
less,  there  was  plenty  of  light  and  resolution  in  the  face 
of  the  girl  as  she  clambered  about  the  rocks,  or  sat  down 
on  the  sands  by  Lione  and  filled  her  lap  with  flowers. 

This  was  how  the  Major  found  her,  coming  up  with 
young  Stuart  from  their  morning  plunge  in  the  lake. 
He  stopped  to  look  at  her  with  a  certain  pleasure  in  his 
face. 

"  Well,  you  look  wide  awake  enough,"  he  observed 
approvingly.  "  Fanny  not  dressed  yet,  I  suppose  ? 
Well,  I  will  go  and  call  her.  Now  mind  you  don't  keep 
breakfast  waiting,  Constance,  there  's  a  good  girl,"  he 
said,  walking  off  through  the  tall,  wet  grass. 

"Do  you  intend  not  to  say  'good-morning'  to  me  at 
all,  then  ?  "  demanded  Mr.  Stuart. 

Constance  smiled. 

"  I  'm  extremely  happy  this  morning,"  she  said  incon 
sequentially.  "Now  —  at  last  —  I  feel  as  though  we 
were  really  going  to  Damascus.  I  shall  get  some  letters 
there.  I  shall  get  two,  perhaps  three,  letters  from  my 
father  —  " 

"  But  you  haven't  said  '  good-morning,'  to  me  yet," 
said  Jack. 

She  had  been  busy  fastening  a  great  yellow  marigold 
in  Lione's  collar,  but  now  she  lifted  up  her  face,  and  he 
could  see  the  careless,  friendly  look  in  her  eyes  and  the 
faint,  fresh  color  the  sea-wind  had  brought  to  her  cheek. 

"  This  Syrian  air  must  disagree  with  me ;  I  believe  I 


1 65  MIRAGE. 

am  growing  rude,"  she  answered  gravely.  "  Good-morn 
ing,  Mr.  Stuart.  There,  that  is  the  great  'disadvantage 
of  society  —  people  are  always  making  comparisons. 
Now,  if  you  had  not  spent  your  afternoon  yesterday 
flirting  with  that  pretty  Miss  Smythe,  why,  perhaps  you 
might  never  have  discovered  how  bad  even  my  manners 
can  be." 

"  Miss  Smythe  !  " 

"Oh,  Miss  Smythe  is  very  pretty.  I  think  she  is  a 
very  nice  girl,"  said  Constance.  "  I  like  English  girls  ; 
I  like  —  " 

"  You  like  talking  nonsense,  I  think,"  he  interrupted 
coolly.  « 

"  Well,  at  least  I  don't  deny  my  tastes,"  she  answered 
frankly.  "  But,  really  now,  I  don't  see  why  you  should 
call  it  nonsense  ;  I  really  don't  see  why  you  should  not 
flirt  with  Miss  Smythe,  or  fall  in  love  with  Miss  Smythe, 
if—" 

She  had  been  speaking  almost  at  random,  but  now 
she  checked  herself  suddenly,  and  there  was  an  expres 
sion  of  embarrassment  in  her  eyes.  She  glanced  up 
timidly  at  her  companion.  The  young  man  had  turned 
away  his  head.  There  was  a  curious  look  on  his  face, 
as  he  stood  biting  his  lip  and  staring  at  the  pale  and 
restless  water. 

"  No  ;  I  never  supposed  you  did  see  it,"  he  answered 
shortly. 

It  seemed  a  long  way  back  to  the  tents. 

The  shores  of  the  lake  are  absolutely  deserted.  As 
they  rode,  an  hour  later,  by  the  ruined  battlements  of 
Tiberias  —  only  invested  now  by  scarlet  poppies  or  the 
waving  grass  —  a  few  miserable  old  Jews  crawled  out  of 
their  hovels  to  gaze  at  the  travellers,  then  with  some 
mysterious  murmur  of  imprecation  slunk  back  to  their 
hiding-holes.  Not  a  house  was  to  be  seen  on  either 
shore  ;  nothing  but  deep,  misty  ravines  filled  with  shift 
ing,  blue  shadows  ;  no  sound  but  the  sullen  beating  of 
the  surf. 

As  the  path  wound  higher  and  higher  they  could  see, 


SCHON-ROHTRA  UT.  1 67 

at  every  bend  of  the  leafy  road,  the  wide,  gray  loneliness 
of  the  mountain-girdled  sea.  And  once  —  quite  sud 
denly —  they  came  upon  a  wandering  caravan  of  pil 
grims —  men  and  women  and  children,  clad  in  strange 
and  beautiful  garments  :  a  sudden,  brilliant  burst  of 
vivid  color  and  gaily-caparisoned  horses  and  flashing 
arms.  They  passed  each  at  foot-pace  in  the  narrow 
pathway.  And  then  a  sudden  silence  fell  upon  the 
noisy  train  ;  the  men  looked  warily  to  their  merchandise, 
the  women  folded  themselves  more  tightly  in  their  veils  : 
it  was  the  silent  negation  of  an  alien  race. 

And  now  indeed  they  seemed  entering  into  the  very 
heart  of  solitude  ;  for  now  they  had  left  behind  them 
the  mournful  swamps  of  Magdala,  its  ruined  mill  and  the 
shallow,  brawling  river  where  all  day  long  the  clustering 
oleanders  flaunt  their  frail  rosy  beauty  in  the  sun  ;  and 
\)n  and  on  they  rode  by  silent  paths,  through  long,  wild 
stretches  of  leafy  solitudes,  or  out  into  the  empty,  open 
fields  between  the  yellow  primroses  and  the  soft  silver- 
gray  of  the  sky. 

And  on  the  second  day  they  reached  the  swamps  of 
Huleh.  A  primitive  grandeur  marks  the  long,  swelling 
lines,  the  mountain  barrier  of  that  desolate,  unclaimed 
land. 

Once,  towards  evening,  they  came  upon  a  camp  of 
Bedaween.  The  small  "black  tents  of  Kidar,"  looked 
like  black  bats  flattened  against  the  ground.  The  men 
were  in  the  pastures  with  the  cattle  ;  a  low-browed 
woman,  with  shining  silver  ornaments  about  her  wrists 
and  hair,  offered  to  sell  them  some  milk  as  they  passed 
through  the  village  ;  some  thin,  brown-skinned  children 
sprang  from  the  road  and  fled  with  shrill,  wild  outcry 
to  the  shelter  of  the  tents  ;  and  gaunt  and  famished 
pariah  dogs  pursued  them  with  loud-throated  menace 
far  into  the  open  fields.  And  then  one  night  came  the 
first  revelation  of  Mount  Hermon,  rising  in  snow-crowned 
solitude,  far  off  against  the  roseate  sky.  They  were 
camping  beside  a  nameless  lake,  where  big,  brown  buf 
faloes  trooped  slowly  down  through  the  sedge  to  drink, 


1 68  MIRAGE. 

and  the  reedy  shore  was  for  a  moment  transfigurea  into 
a  network  of  gold  by  the  magical  weaving  of  sunset. 
Then  night  crept  over  the  land  —  chill,  homeless  night, 
with  the  wailing  of  wind  and  the  sense  of  desolation. 

It  was  the  next  day  they  reached  Banias. 

But  even  in  this  brief  interval,  a  change  had  come 
over  the  spirit  of  the  little  party.  As  Constance  said,  it 
seemed  at  last  that  they  were  really  going  to  Damascus  ; 
something  of  the  city's  restraint  made  itself  felt.  And 
now,  indeed,  they  could  already  look  forward  to  the  end 
of  this  free  and  careless  journeying,  and  more  than  one 
of  them  secretly  questioned  what  that  end  should 'be. 
It  is  true  that  when  Fanny  attempted  to  give  these 
questions  a  more  tangible  expression,  she  met  with  but 
small  success. 

"  How  can  I  tell  you  what  I  mean  to  do,  Fanny  ? 
What  do  I  know  of  it  myself  ?  You  take  it  for  granted 
that  I  am  thinking  always  of  what — of  what  other  peo 
ple  would  like,"  the  girl  said,  somewhat  bitterly ;  "  but 
is  there  nothing  ever  coming  to  me  out  of  life  ?  Am  I 
never  to  think,  to  expect,  to  live,  for  myself?" 

It  was  a  settled  conviction  of  Mrs.  Thayer's,  that 
Constance  was  incapable  of  very  deep  emotion. 

"  You  ought  to  marry  some  man  with  plenty  of  money, 
who  would  be  very  devoted  to  you  and  very  indulgent ; 
some  one  who  could  give  you  a  good  position,"  she 
argued  seriously.  "All  those  romantic  and  sentimental 
notions  are  quite  out  of  place  with  your  character,  Con 
stance.  You  're  the  dearest  girl  in  the  world,  you  know, 
and  I  love  you  dearly ;  but  I  don't  think  you  will  ever 
break  your  heart  over  anybody  much.  And  really, 
Constance,  with  your  good  sense  —  Tom  always  says 
you  have  more  good  sense  than  any  woman  he  knows  — 
and  when  you  think  of  your  father  at  home  and  all  those 
children,  and  you  with  your  habits  and  tastes,  I  don't 
know  any  one  who  needs  to  make  a  good  marriage  more 
than  yourself,  dear  child,"  concluded  Fanny,  with  un 
sparing  frankness. 

The  girl  was 'walking  by  the  side  of  the  palanquin, 


SCHON-ROHTRA  UT.  1 69 

but  now  she  turned  her  head  away,  and  Mrs.  Thayer 
could  only  see  the  nervous  trembling  of  her  hands. 

"  There  is  Aunt  Van,  to  be  sure,"  continued  that 
prudent  little  person  ;  "  of  course,  if  you  have  really 
decided  never  to  marry,  Aunt  Van  will  have  to  do  some 
thing  for  you,  I  suppose.  I  dare  say  she  would  do  it, 
even  after  that  Stuyvesant  affair.  But  living  with  Aunt 
Van!  Why,  surely,  Constance  —  " 

"It  had  not  come  to  that  yet.  No,  not  yet ;"  the  girl 
answered  proudly,  lifting  up  her  eyes.  And  then,  with 
sudden  change  of  manner  :  "  O  Fanny,"  she  said  pas 
sionately,  "be  good  to  me;  let  me  alone!  I  know  —  I 
know  every  thing  you  would  say,  dear,  and  it  is  all  true, 
and  you  are  good  to  say  it,  only —  We  have  four  clays 
left,  haven't  we?  and  then  Damascus,  and  Aunt  Van. 
But  those  four  days  belong  to  me,"  said  Constance. 

It  was  not  like  her  usual  way  of  speaking.  When 
Mrs.  Thayer  thought  it  over  afterwards,  she  sighed  and 
shook  her  head  dubiously.  There  was  something  more 
here  than  met  the  eye,  the  little  lady  thought — some 
thing  she  could  not  understand. 

And  meanwhile  they  were  climbing  up  to  Banias. 
Climbing  to  the  source  of  the  Jordan,  by  sunny  paths 
and  through  pale  fields  of  wheat ;  by  myrtle  groves,  and 
hoary  old  olives,  lightning-shattered  and  gray.  There 
was  a  delicate,  continuous  sound  of  running  water  in  the 
air ;  marble  columns  and  many  a  fallen  capital  were 
lying  on  the  ground,  deep  hidden  in  tall  weeds ;  and  far 
above  their  heads,  high  on  the  mountain's  slope,  the 
crumbling  citadel  lifted  its  ruined  towers. 

And  now,  winding  about  the  hillside,  they  pushed 
their  way  through  a  leafy  covert  of  thorn  and  myrtle,  to 
the  secret  woodland  paths.  Frail,  white  cyclamen  grew 
in  abundance  in  these  moist  recesses,  and  rank  butter 
cups  thrust  their  yellow  blossoms  through  the  branches 
to  catch  and  hold  each  wandering  gleam  of  sunshine. 
At  last,  pushing  their  way  through  the  luxuriant  branch 
ing,  they  came  upon  a  little  open  glade  where  the  stream 
widened  to  a  pool.  An  oak-tree  stretched  its  branches 


MIRAGE. 


i 
clear  across  the  river  ;   beneath    its  shade  the  thicket 

drew  back,  leaving  a  little  open  space  of  smooth,  green 
turf.  And  now  the  horses  stood  motionless,  drinking  in 
the  water  with  the  deep-drawn  breathing  of  content. 
The  little  river  foamed  and  splashed  about  their  feet,  to 
disappear  some  ten  yards  off  under  a  tangle  of  blossom- 
whitened  boughs. 

Here,  in  the  home  of  the  great  god  Pan,  they  seemed 
to  have  discovered  the  most  secret  of  his  haunts.  As 
Constance  looked  about  her,  the  leaves  overhead  rustled 
suddenly  as  though  stirred  by  the  white  hands  of  some 
dryad,  "  with  a  face  like  spring  ;  "  and  the  girl  smiled'  to 
fancy  that  by  lifting  up  her  eyes  she  could  meet  the  mis 
chievous,  startled  gaze  of  some  belated  faun,  or  hear  in 
the  lift  and  fall  of  the  splashing  water  the  low  laughter 
of  the  nymphs  hidden  amongst  sharp-flowering  rushes. 
And  then  as  she  looked  about  her  she  was  struck  with 
a  sudden  sense  of  the  curious  silence  of  the  place. 
There  was  not  the  sound  of  a  bird's  song  among  the 
branches,  not  the  flutter  of  a  bird's  wing  across  the  blue. 
She  listened.  A  sudden  cloud  passed  over  the  April 
sky  ;  the  flower-crowned  laurels  flung  their  white  arms 
wildly  in  the  air  ;  a  sudden  gust  of  wind  shook  all 
the  sturdy  branches  of  the  oak,  and  hushed  itself  with 
a  shivering  sigh  among  the  reeds.  And  through  the 
sobbing  of  the  water  came  a  wild  lament  —  Pan,  Pan 
is  dead  ! 

It  was  at  Banias  that  they  again  fell  in  with  Ferris  — 
at  Banias  and  under  the  trees.  The  night  was  warm 
and  still.  They  sat  by  the  brink  of  the  shadowy  river, 
rushing  wildly  down  from  its  sacred  cave  beside  the 
ruined  shrines  ;  they  watched  it  for  a  moment,  flowing 
thin  and  clear  adown  that  marble  stairway  which  the 
footsteps  of  many  a  worshipper  had  pressed  —  they 
watched  it,  hastening  downward  through  the  shadows, 
and  the  moon,  riding  high  above  the  tree-tops,  whitened 
its  foaming  fall. 

"  Mr.  Davenant,"  said  Constance,  looking  vaguely  up 
above  her,  "  why  is  it  that  oak-trees  seem  so  mediaeval  ? 


SCHON-ROHTRA  UT.  1 7 1 

Why  should  they  make  one  think  of  old  crusaders  and 
knights  in  armor,  like  some  suggestion  of  an  old 
romance  ?  " 

"  Ah,  I  have  felt  that  too,"  said  Davenant  gravely. 
"  It  is  a  gothic  tree,  don't  you  know  ?  German  in  its 
spirit,  I  mean,  not  Greek." 

"  I  know,"  said  Ferris, — 

Einstmals  sie  ruhten  am  Eichenbaum 
Da  lacht  Schon-Rohtraut. 

She  looked  up  with  a  quick  light  on  her  face.  "  Oh, 
Mr.  Ferris,  do  you  know  the  rest  of  it  ?  I  have  not 
heard  that  song — not  for  years,"  she  said  earnestly. 

Ferris  was  very  willing  to  please  this  girl.  He  made 
an  effort  to  recollect  the  half-forgotten  words ;  in  a 
rough  way  he  even  translated  them  to  Fanny.  While 
the  oak-trees  rustled  overhead  in  the  silence,  and  the 
river  leaped  and  whitened  in  the  moonlight,  he  told 
them  the  story  of  Rohtraut — King  Ringang's  young 
daughter  Rohtraut  —  beautiful  Rohtraut  —  who  all  day 
long  would  neither  spin  nor  sew,  but  only  ride  out  into 
the  wild,  free  wood.  And  the  young  page  sighed  that 
he  too  might  become  a  hunter,  and  follow  the  beautiful 
girl  into  the  wild,  free  wood.  "And  after  a  while,"  he 
went  on,  "after  a  little  while,  the  young  man  came  to- 
Ringang's  castle,  in  hunting-dress,  and  with  a  horse  to 
hunt  in  the  woods  with  Rohtraut.  '  Oh  that  I  were 
only  a  king  !  I  love  her  so  dearly,  this  beautiful  Roh 
traut  ;  but  be  silent,  my  heart,  be  still !  ' ' 

In  a  rough  and  broken  fashion  he  tried  to  tell  them 
how  one  day  —  there  came  one  day  when  they  rested  in 
the  oak-forest,  and  how  beautiful  Rohtraut  laughed. 
"  Why  do  you  look  at  me,"  she  asks,  "  why  do  you  look 
at  me  so  longingly  ?  Nay,  if  you  have  the  courage  you 
may  kiss  my  beautiful  lips."  "Be  silent,  my  heart,  be 
still ! " 

And  here  was  it  only  fancy  that  the  trees  whispered 
together  more  loudly  through  the  windless  night,  and 
the  torrent  paused  to  listen  in  the  moonlight,  as  he  told 


1/2  MIRAGE. 

~>K,  *" 
them  how  the  young  man  trembled,  and  how  he  thought 

"  she  has  allowed  it,"  and  how  he  kissed  the  beautiful 
girl  upon  her  mouth  ?  And  then  they  ride  so  silently 
homeward,  and  there  is  wild  delight  in  the  young  man's 
heart.  "  And  though  they  made  you  into  an  empress 
to-day,  what  do  I  care  for  that?  The  thousand  leaves 
in  the  wood  they  know  it — they  know  that  I  have  kissed 
her  beautiful  mouth.  Schweig  stille,  mein  fferz,  schweig 
stille!" 

"  Ah  ! "  said  Davenant,  slowly,  "  it  is  one  of  those 
songs  that  die  away  from  their  music.  Do  you  remem 
ber  Schubert's  music,  Miss  Varley,  and  all  the  wild 
longing  and  passionate  desire  of  that  accompaniment? 
I  never  knew  but  one  person  who  sang  it  well." 

"  It  is  a  man's  song,  I  suppose,"  said  Stuart.  "  I 
have  heard  of  it  once  before." 

"  I  know  a  friend  of  Ferris's  who  sings  it,"  the  young 
man  answered  carelessly;  "a  countryman  of  yours,  by- 
the-way,  and  an  artist.  His  name  —  you  may  have 
heard  of  him,  perhaps  —  is  Lawrence  —  Denis  Law 
rence." 

He  happened  to  be  looking  at  Constance  as  he  spoke, 
and  even  in  the  uncertain  light  he  could  see  the  startled 
look  in  her  face. 

"  Perhaps  you  know  him,  then  ?  "  he  said. 

The  girl  drew  farther  back  into  the  shadow. 

"  I  have  not  seen  him,  no,  not  for  a  long  time,"  she 
said,  with  an  effort;  and  it  was  not  Davenant  alone  who 
noticed  the  steady  suppression  in  her  voice. 

"  Ah,  well,  Lawrence  is  a  capital  fellow,"  said  Ferris, 
lightly.  "  I  know  him  very  well.  We  were  together  at 
the  Beaux  Arts,  in  Paris,  once ;  I  am  going  to  meet 
him  now — in  a  day  or  two.  What,"  said  the  young 
man  with  some  surprise,  "is  it  possible  you  did  not 
know  that  Lawrence  is  at  Damascus?" 

And  all  night  long  the  river  flashed,  and  foamed,  and 
murmured  beneath  the  whispering  trees ;  and  white 
stars  came,  and  shone,  and  faded,  until  the  timid  dawn 
awoke  in  the  east ;  the  topmost  branches  of  the  aspen 


DAWN.  173 

blushed  rosy-red,  a  bird  called  to  its  mate  rapturously 
through  the  silence,  and  the  river  laughed  with  new  joy 
for  the  new  day. 

And  the  desire  of  her  heart  had  come  to  Constance. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

DAWN. 

ONCE  already  that  night  Hassan  had  been  awakened 
by  the  fancied  sound  of  footsteps  prowling  about 
the  camp.  Once  already,  when  he  had  gone  out  hur 
riedly  into  the  darkness,  his  camels'-hair  abbas  folded 
stiffly  about  him,  and  the  wind  ruffling  his  thin,  gray  hair, 
it  was  only  to  see  the  tranquil  row  of  white  tents  shining 
peacefully  in  the  moonlight,  and  to  hear  the  vague  sigh 
ing  of  the  trees.  But  now,  as  he  looked  cautiously  around 
him,  something  moved  out  there  in  the  shadow ;  a  dark 
figure  was  coming  slowly  towards  him,  lounging  about  in 
the  moonlight,  its  hands  in  its  pockets  and  a  cigar  in  its 
mouth. 

"  What 's  the  matter,  Hassan  ?  Any  thing  up  ?  " 
Stuart  demanded  in  a  low  tone. 

The  young  man  laughed  to  scorn  any  suggestion  that 
harm  might  come  to  him  of  this  ghostly  wandering. 

"  You  go  to  sleep  now,  and  let  me  alone.  Catch  the 
fever  ?  That 's  a  likely  story  !  and  what  the  devil  does 
it  matter  to  you  if  I  do  ?  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Hassan : 
the  care  of  this  family  is  getting  to  be  too  much  for 
your  brain.  Now  go  to  bed,  there  's  a  good  fellow,  and 
don't  bother.  You  'd  better  go  to  sleep.  This  is  a  cap 
ital  place  for  sleeping,  you  know.  I  stumbled  over  one 
of  your  guards  a  moment  ago,  and  I  'm  blessed  if  the 
fellow  even  winked,"  he  said  good-humoredly. 

He  walked  down  into  the  darkness,  and  stared  at  the 
swirling  stream. 


174  MIRAGE. 

*^*^_       "^ 

"  She  cares  for  me  —  she  cares  for  me  as  I  do  for 
that"  he  thought,  and  tossed  his  cigar  into  the  water, 
and  saw  the  spark  of  fire  sputter  and  go  out. 

The  short  summer  night  was  well-nigh  over ;  a  light 
mist  floated  above  the  river  ;  already  the  low  moon  paled 
against  the  paling  sky. 

"  And  those  other  fellows,"  he  went  on,  thinking  sav 
agely  ;  and  there  was  perhaps  none  the  less  bitterness 
in  his  reflections  that  they  took  this  unsentimental  form  ; 
"  those  other  fellows,  with  their  pictures  and  poetry  and 
stuff :  is  there  one  of  them  who  knows  her  as  I  know 
her,  or  who  would  do  what  I  would  do  for  her,  for 
a  word  —  a  look  —  any  thing  ?  They  say  I  haven't  kny 
sentiment.  Well,  I  don't  understand  German — that's 
true  enough  ;  but  can't  I  be  as  spooney  over  a  girl  as 
any  other  fellow  ? " 

He  thought  of  other  episodes  in  his  experience.  But 
which  one  of  those  girls  could  ever  be  compared  to  her  ? 
he  asked  himself,  with  cool  ingratitude.  Each  little 
familiar  trick  and  turn  of  expression  rose  up  distinctly 
before  him.  There  was  one  particular  look  of  hers 
when  any  thing  had  pleased  her,  a  look  that  came  into 
her  eyes  — 

He  stood  there  so  long  that  a  bird  began  singing  in 
the  branches ;  there  was  a  deepening  glimmer  of  gold 
behind  the  trees,  and  of  a  sudden  the  river  leaped  and 
danced  and  glistened  in  the  sun.  He  turned  his  head. 
Here  —  here  she  was,  Constance  herself,  coming  through 
the  long  grass  to  greet  him,  with  spring  in  her  face  and 
white  hands  full  of  flowers. 

A  happy  inspiration  came  to  Stuart. 

"  Oh  no,  the  others  are  not  awake  yet,"  he  answered, 
somewhat  eagerly.  "  Look  here,  Constance,  suppose  we 
"don't  wait  for  them  ?  Let  us,  you  and  I,  go  up  to  the 
fountain  together  —  Pan's  Fountain,  don't  you  know? 
There  will  be  such  a  mob  of  people  when  the  others  are 
all  there,"  he  suggested  artfully  ;  "  and  I  know  you  don't 
like  mobs." 

Constance  laughed. 


DAWN.  175 

"  I  am  ready.  I  am  ready  for  any  thing  this  morning," 
she  said  confidentially ;  and  she  looked  at  him  with  all 
the  gladness  of  life  in  her  face. 

They  went  up.  It  was  a  steep  and  rugged  path  be 
neath  the  cliff,  and  the  stones  were  still  slippery  with 
dew.  The  wet  myrtle  branches  spattered  a  shower  of 
raindrops  and  white  petals  in  their  faces  as  they  pushed 
their  way  past;  it  would  be  hours  before  the  sun  en-' 
tered  these  leafy  thickets  ;  but  already  high  overhead  the 
sheer  wall  of  red  granite  burned  redly  in  the  morning 
light.  And  now  they  had  reached  the  goatherd's  terrace, 
and  before  them,  deep  in  the  heart  of  the  mountain 
cavern,  slumbered  a  dark  and  brimming  pool. 

The  girl  sat  down  on  one  of  the  fallen  boulders  ;  her 
companion  threw  himself  beside  her  at  her  feet.  They 
looked  about  them.  It  was  a  still  morning.  Some  swal 
lows  flitted  sharply  past,  clinging  with  low  uneasy  cries 
to  the  hanging  water-plants  overhead  ;  the  joyous  river 
foamed  from  out  the  cavern,  leaping  wildly  down  through 
the  leafy  cleft  to  the  valley  beneath  ;  below  them  the  tall 
sycamores  swayed  slowly  to  and  fro  in  the  sunlight ; 
there  came  a  pleasant  sound  of  the  winged  wind  in  the 
tops  of  the  planes. 

"  Do  you  see  those  niches  in  the  rock  ?  "  asked  Stuart. 

And  then  they  both  looked  up  at  the  empty  shrines  of 
the  nymphs,  shrines  curved  like  some  delicate  shell  of 
the  sea.  And  on  each  but  one  of  these  forgotten  altars 
grew  some  blooming  plant,  the  last  tribute  perhaps  of 
that  eternal  pagan,  Nature,  to  her  dead  gods ;  not  mere 
white  lilies  grew  there,  or  the  soft  poppy  with  red  leaves, 
but  rather  young  anemones,  the  flower  of  golden-haired 
Venus,  and  inscribed  leaves  of  hyacinth. 

The  ground  was  covered  with  low-creeping  thyme ; 
Constance  dragged  it  off  in  wet  handfuls  from  the  drip 
ping  rocks  to  make  a  garland  for  that  only  empty  shrine. 
And  like  two  young  Greeks,  and  with  a  fantastic  serious 
ness,  they  hung  the  purple  tribute  in  its  place.  "  It 
might  be,"  the  girl  said,  smiling  dreamily,  "  it  might  be 
that  the  old  gods  were  not  dead  but  only  sleeping ;  and 


176  MIRAGE. 

**S[»          «r- 

who  could  tell  what  answer  they  would  send?  'For  the 
entrances  of  the  elder  world  were  wide  and  sure,  and 
brought  immortal  fruit.' " 

The  wise,  old  goats  had  started  off  at  sight  of  these 
strange  faces,  but  now  they  came  trooping  boldly  back, 
pushing  their  way  to  the  water-splashed  cave.  And  as 
these  two  young  people  turned  again  to  descend  to  the 
valley,  there  was  a  sudden  quick  pattering  of  sharp  feet 
among  the  stones,  a  black-faced  ram  with  a  long,  white 
beard  sprang  nimbly  on  a  boulder,  and,  planting  his 
sharp  feet  firmly  against  the  rock,  he  reached  his  vener 
able  head  towards  the  garland. 

"  Surely  this  is  only  the  disguise  of  some  old  priest  of 
Pan,"  the  girl  said,  glancing  back  mirthfully.  "  See, 
Jack  —  see!  he  has  actually  reached  it  —  " 

Stuart  was  standing  a  step  or  two  below  her,  and  she 
touched  his  shoulder  lightly  to  make  him  look  up. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  see,"  he  said  in  a  vague  fashion. 

They  went  down  a  little  farther.  A  brook  crossed  the 
pathway  ;  the  stones  were  slippery  with  water.  It  was  a 
steep  and  difficult  descent. 

"  Here,  let  me  help  you.  It  is  much  harder  coming 
down.  Give  me  your  hand ;  I  can  lift  you  over,"  the 
young  man  said  eagerly. 

"  Oh,  I  can  spring,"  said  Constance. 

She  stood  balancing  herself  for  a  moment  on  the 
stone.  The  little  torrent  foamed  and  splashed  about 
her  feet ;  a  sharp  ray  of  sunshine  pierced  the  leaves 
overhead  and  touched  her  hair  and  the  delicate  outline 
of  her  throat.  Stuart  looked  at  her. 

"  Oh,  very  well.  But  if  you  fall  you  will  hurt  your 
self  ;  and  if  you  think  I  am  going  to  let  you  have  the 
chance  of  hurting  yourself,  why  —  why  you  are  mis 
taken,"  he  said  with  sudden  audacity. 

He  walked  back  deliberately  through  the  shallow 
water,  and  threw  his  arm  about  her  waist  and  lifted  her 
to  the  other  side. 

"  Constance,  are  you  very  angry  ?  "  he  asked.  He 
bent  down  his  head  and  kissed  her  on  the  cheek. 


DAWN.  177 

For  an  instant  she  stood  quite  still,  startled  into 
quiescence.  She  lifted  up  her  face,  arid  he  in  his  turn 
was  fairly  disconcerted  by  the  look  of  mute  reproach  in 
her  eyes. 

"  I  did  not  expect  that  from  you,  Jack,"  she  said 
simply.  Her  lip  trembled  a  little.  "  Will  you  let  me 
pass  ?  " 

"  I  shall  not  let  you  pass,"  he  said  boldly ;  but  there 
was  more  of  entreaty  than  of  defiance  in  his  voice.  "  I 
shall  not  let  you  leave  me  so.  Oh,  I  know  that  you 
have  a  right  to  be  angry  •  but  Constance,  I  could  not 
help  it,  dear.  I  am  so  sorry.  But  you  expect  me  to  be 
with  you,  and  see  you,  and  talk  to  you,  and  never  tell 
you  a  word  of  how  I  love  you,"  he  said  doggedly,  "  and 
I  can't  do  it  —  I  won't.  You  should  not  ask  a  man  to 
do  the  impossible." 

The  branches  rustled  beneath  them,  and  there  was  a 
sound  of  approaching  footsteps  along  the  path. 

"  Oh,  confound  it  all,"  he  said  impatiently,  "  here 
comes  somebody  —  of  course  !  And  if  you  would  only 
listen  to  me  for  a  moment,  Constance  ;  if  you  will  only 
say  you  are  not —  " 

Well,  it  was  an  awkward  meeting  for  everybody. 
"  And  if  this  was  to  be  the  result  of  early  rising,"  Mr. 
Ferris  remarked  afterwards,  u  why,  early  rising  was  a 
mistake." 

"  I  told  you  all  along  what  would  be  happening,"  he 
said  to  Davenant ;  "  I  knew  we  should  walk  into  the 
midst  of  some  lovers'  quarrel.  And  a  nice  mess  it  was 
we  made  !  " 

Which  was  the  more  ungrateful  that  it  was  Davenant 
himself  who  had  saved  the  situation  ;  Davenant  —  who 
looked  upon  Jack  Stuart  as  a  Philistine — who  con 
sidered  him  in  simple  good  faith  as  a  mere  incident,  of 
no  possible  importance  to  art  —  and  who  now  came  for 
ward  and  was  the  first  to  address  Constance. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Varley,"  he  said  earnestly,  "  I  wish  you 
would  come  with  me  a  moment.  I  want  you  to  come 
and  listen  to  this  falling  water.  Do  you  know  that  there 


i;3  MIRAGE. 

~*^  "" 
was  a  marble  temple  here  once  —  a  fair,  white  temple  to 

Pan  ;  and  now  the  temple  is  gone,  the  god  is  gone,  and 
there  is  only  the  river  calling,  calling  from  the  secret 
places  of  the  mountain.  It  is  like  the  voice  of  the  old 
gods  of  Hellas  — like  the  love  of  the  Greeks  in  a  man's 
life  —  something  luring  and  irresistible,  and  full  of  mys 
terious  power." 

"Yes;  I  will  come  with  you,"  said  Constance,  very 
quietly. 

There  was  a  burning  and  indignant  flush  on  her 
cheeks,  but  she  spoke  quite  steadily,  and  there  was  little 
of  embarrassment  or  hesitation  to  be  detected  iii  her 
firm,  proud  bearing  as  she  turned  and- walked  away. 

"  Are  you  going  up  ?  Oh,  well,  I  am  going  down," 
said  Stuart.  It  was  in  no  very  enviable  mood  the 
young  man  returned  to  camp. 

But  how  was  it  possible  to  cherish  resentment  long 
on  such  a  morning  ?  The  hillside  was  a  wilderness  of 
joyously-running  water-threads  ;  and  as  they  rode  away 
from  camp  the  horses  picked  their  way  across  a  soaked 
and  spongy  soil.  The  hedges  and  bushes  were  ablaze 
with  buds  of  every  color,  and  flowers  that  breathed  the 
odors  of  Paradise.  There  was  a  certain  bush  of  myrtle 
in  blossom  which  Constance  will  never  forget  —  it  was 
only  three  days'  ride  from  Damascus.  And  how  the 
birds  sang  that  morning  !  The  very  rapture  and  fulness 
of  life  seemed  looking  at  the  girl  from  every  flower  along 
the  pathway  —  seemed  calling  to  her  in  every  sound  of 
running  water  and  the  singing  of  birds  —  seemed  shin 
ing  in  the  sunlight — seemed  floating  about  her  on 
every  breath  of  the  warm  and  fitful  breeze. 

She  rode  between  Ferris  and  the  Major.  There  was 
no  end  to  the  eager  questions  she  asked.  Should  they 
reach  Damascus  in  the  morning  or  at  evening?  Could 
one  see  it  from  a  long  distance  off?  Was  it  a  very 
large  city  ?  And  here  she  bent  over  and  busied  herself 
with  the  adjustment  of  her  reins. 

"  Not  so  large  as  Cairo  ?  Oh,  of  course  not.  Cairo," 
Miss  Varley  said,  "  is  a  city  where  every  one  seems  lost. 


DAWN.  179 

If  you  have  friends  there,  and  they  are  not  staying  at 
your  hotel,  it  may  be  weeks  before  you  see  them  at  all." 

The  Major  smiled.  "  I  thought  I  heard  you  object 
ing  once  at  the  quantity  of  people  Fanny  made  us  know 
at  Cairo  ?"  he  said. 

But  there  was  no  difficulty  of  that  kind  at  Damascus, 
Ferris  observed  carelessly.  Miss  Varley  would  find 
there  was  but  one  —  at  least  one  civilized — hotel. 

And  all  day  long  they  rode  on  much  in  this  same 
fashion,  climbing  steadily  higher  over  rich,  green  hill- 
slopes  and  under  darkly-luxuriant  trees,  until  it  was 
almost  as  good  as  being  in  a  park,  Fanny  observed 
approvingly.  Mrs.  Thayer  was  not  in  the  habit  of  pay 
ing  compliments  to  Nature.  But  with  evening  there 
came  a  change  in  the  character  of  the  landscape.  They 
were  fast  approaching  Mount  Hermon,  the  ground 
had  grown  rocky,  and  already  there  was  a  snow-chill 
in  the  air,  and  a  thin,  bleak  wind  whistling  about  the 
tents.  It  was  not  an  evening  for  much  confidential 
discourse. 

The  next  morning  found  them  toiling  through  a  laby 
rinth  of  rocky  defiles,  deep  in  the  heart  of  the  hills.  It 
was  an  arid  and  shadowless  country —  a  land  of  pale, 
barren  slopes,  where  the  grass  grew  thin  and  sear, 
crossed  by  a  curious  network  of  small,  white  paths, 
which  meet  and  intersect,  and  part  and  climb  again,  like 
the  curious  tracery  of  lines  on  the  rind  of  a  melon  —  a 
sterile  country,  where  the  very  rock-forms  seem  poor 
and  trivial  and  meaningless.  But  presently  the  road 
narrowed  to  a  track  barely  wide  enough  for  a  single 
horse.  For  an  hour  or  more  they  wound  their  way  along 
a  steep,  limestone  gully,  between  two  walls  of  towering 
rock.  The  day  was  terribly  hot.  The  cruel  sunshine 
glared  pitilessly  down  upon  the  white  rocks,  the  ground 
under  foot  was  hard  like  iron.  For  a  long  time  they 
rode  on  in  silence,  the  very  song  of  the  muleteers  was 
hushed.  The  horses  plodded  wearily  forward,  with 
spiritless,  drooping  heads,  and  then  Lione  would  run  on 
a  few  steps  and  lie  down  panting,  trying  vainly  to  crowd 


180  MIRAGE. 

">V     f- 

himself  beneath  the  prickly  shade  of  the  dead  thorn- 
bushes,  and  startling  the  great  lizards  basking  in  the 
sun.  Once  a  caravan  from  Damascus  met  and  crossed 
their  path  —  a  line  of  muffled  figures,  silent  and  white  — 
and  exchanged  a  listless  salute.  And  again  there  was 
nothing  to  be  seen  but  the  naked  limestone  walls,  the 
cruel  sunshine,  and,  overhead,  the  pitiless  dark  sky. 

But  now  the  Major,  riding  on  in  front,  saw  the  horse 
before  him  raise  his  head,  prick  up  his  ears,  and  start 
forward  with  a  low  whinny  of  delight.  The  rocks 
turned  sharply  to  the  right,  opened  out,  fell  back ;  and 
now  the  heat  and  glare  had  vanished,  for  a  cool  show- 
wind  swept  in  their  faces  ;  and  before  them,  across  a . 
stretch  of  level  plain,  the  lord  of  mountains  rose  in 
white,  resplendent  majesty. 

The  track  still  wound  upward,  nearer  and  nearer  to 
the  edge  of  that  snow.  And  presently  small  flowers 
and  grasses  started  up  beside  the  pathway ;  a  little 
brook  sprang  suddenly  from  behind  a  granite  boulder 
and  ran  singing  along  the  road  ;  a  flock  of  big,  brown 
goats  ran  bleating  before  the  horses,  and  they  entered  a 
narrow  valley  all  silvery  with  olive-trees. 

Here  they  dismounted  for  the  noonday  halt.  It  was 
a  silent  and  a  peaceful  spot.  The  little  brook  babbled 
softly  to  itself  among  the  grasses  ;  the  wind  lifted  and 
stirred  the  silvery-gray  leaves  overhead  ;  a  brindled  old 
sheep-dog,  with  a  gentle,  sagacious  face,  left  his  flock 
upon  the  hillside  and  came  and  made  friends  with  Con 
stance.  He  even  followed  her  as  she  strolled  slowly 
along  the  brook  ;  he  watched  her  gather  flowers  ;  he 
gave  a  low  growl  of  warning,  and  placed  himself  pro- 
tectingly  before  her,  when,  leaning  against  an  olive  tree, 
his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  his  hat  well  over  his  eyes, 
they  chanced  unexpectedly  upon  Jack. 

He  had  not  heard  them  coming,  and  now,  as  he  started 
and  looked  up  at  the  sheep-dog's  bark,  there  was  some 
thing  so  dejected  in  his  attitude,  an  expression  of  such 
dumb,  half-understood  trouble  upon  the  handsome,  sun 
burned  features,  that  Constance  never  hesitated  for  a 


DAWN.  181 

moment.  She  went  impulsively  forward  ;  she  held  out 
her  hand. 

"We —  There  isn't  any  reason  we  should  not  be 
good  friends,  Jack,  is  there  ? "  she  said  in  her  gentle 
voice. 

And  however  incoherent  Stuart's  answer  may  have 
been,  there  was  still  a  certain  blunt  earnestness  about  it 
which  touched  her  to  quite  a  singular  degree.  F,r, 
"There  is  nothing  I  would  not  do — I  would  rather  cut 
my  hand  off  than  offend  you,"  the  young  man  assured 
her  wildly  ;  "and  you  —  you  have  hardly  spoken  to  me 
for  these  two  days."  And  Constance  was  moved  with 
something  almost  like  remorse  as  she  thought  of  the 
beautiful  dreaming  in  which  those  two  days  had  passed. 
To  a  noble,  to  a  sensitive  nature,  it  is  often  in  this  very 
power  which  it  possesses  over  another  that  lies  the 
secret  of  its  heaviest  bond.  She  looked  at  him,  and 
there  was  an  expression  of  wistful  trouble  he  had  surely 
never  seen  in  that  frank,  clear  glance  before. 

"I  am  sorry,"  she  answered  sadly.  "Sometimes  — 
sometimes  I  think  I  ought  to  tell  you,  Jack  — " 

A  hot  flush  came  over  her  face.  She  left  the  sentence 
unfinished,  and  turned  abruptly  away. 

And  still  the  little  brook  babbled  softly  to  itself 
among  the  grasses ;  the  flickering  sunshine  came  and 
went  with  the  stirring  of  the  leaves ;  the  brindled 
sheep-dog  followed  their  gestures  with  his  gentle,  intel 
ligent  eyes,  and  Stuart  wondered  in  silence  over  this 
strange,  this  delicious  new  shyness  in  his  companion. 
"Could  it  be  possible?"  the  young  man  asked  himself. 
He  felt  his  pulse  beat  faster  at  the  very  supposition.  A 
wild,  new  hope,  vague  and  wordless  and  strong,  had 
awakened,  was  even  now  stirring  in  his  heart.  When 
he  rejoined  the  others  a  moment  later,  there  was  no  one 
present  who  did  not  feel  the  contagion  of  his  impetuous 
high  spirits  and  content.  He  even  endeavored  to  en 
courage  art ;  he  asked  Ferris  to  explain  the  mechanism 
of  his  sketching-box  ;  he  listened  with  perfect  compla 
cency  to  Davenant's  remarks. 


1 82  MIRAGE. 

~»-,  *^ 
"  I  know  a  man  who  has  made  the  ascent  of  Mount 

Hermon,"  that  young  gentleman  was  saying;  "he  went 
up  to  explore  for  temples.  Do  you  know  that  there  are 
places  here,  in  this  very  Lebanon,  where  the  sun-worship 
is  as  living,  the  rites  as  sacred,  as  in  the  old  days  of 
Nineveh  ? " 

And  as  the  spring  wind  rustled  among  the  branches, 
and  fleet  cloud-shadows  passed  across  the  sunny  grass, 
they  lay  beneath  the  olive-trees,  looking  out  upon  the 
sacred  mountain  —  the  lonely  mountain  where,  from  the 
Druse  with  his  half-Egyptian  mysteries,  to  the  Greek,  to 
the  Mahomedan,  to  the  Jew  —  from  Astarte  to  Christ 
—  there  is  not  a  religion,  not  a  faith,  not  a  practice,*  but 
has  found  shelter  amid  the  inviolate  sanctity  of  its 
snows. 

It  was  night  when  they  reached  Rasheiya.  For  the 
first  time  in  many  days  the  camp  was  pitched  within  the 
limits  of  a  town.  There  was  something  strange,  almost 
impressive  in  these  long,  low  lines  of  silent  houses,  in 
these  dark  and  narrow  streets  where  the  horses'  feet 
awoke  a  hollow  echo  from  the  stones. 

The  tents  were  ranged  around  a  lofty  terrace  set 
about  with  a  low  wall ;  and  after  dinner  Constance 
slipped  out  unnoticed,  and  came  and  leaned  upon  this 
parapet.  The  night  was  moonless,  but  high  overhead 
there  was  a  white  glimmer  of  snow  under  the  stars,  and 
the  air  had  a  sharp  edge  to  it  as  it  swept  coldly  down 
from  those  bleak  and  lonely  heights.  It  was  almost  the 
first  moment  Constance  had  been  alone  that  day.  Now, 
as  she  stood  in  this  silent  darkness,  looking  out  from 
the  mountain-side  across  the  shadowy  stretch  of  plain, 
a  great  trouble  and  longing  were  in  her  heart.  She 
looked  out  to  the  far  horizon  :  somewhere  in  that  dark 
ness,  a  short  day's  journey  off,  lay  the  city  of  her 
dreams.  But  somehow,  in  these  last  moments  a  deep, 
shrinking  distrust  had  stolen  into  her  very  soul.  She 
remembered  the  last  time  she  had  seen  Lawrence ;  the 
manner  of  their  parting:  she  thought  with  a  sort  of 
despair  of  the  years  that  had  rolled  between.  All 


DAWN.  183 

doubts,  all  fears,  all  hesitations  seemed  to  take  form 
and  substance  in  this  chilly  darkness. 

She  looked  about  her.  The  uncertain  silhouette  of 
the  town  rose  up  in  dark  confusion  against  a  clear,  cold 
sky.  She  listened,  and  with  a  superstitious  tremor  she 
heard  the  wailing  note  of  a  bugle  borne  faintly  on  the 
wind  from  the  barracks  which  crown  the  hill.  For 
the  moment,  all  her  fine,  high-strung  courage  had  van 
ished,  had  given  place  to  some  wild  presentiment  of 
woe  ;  for  the  moment  she  absolutely  dreaded  the  idea  of 
Damascus. 

She  stood  there  so  long  that  her  dog,  who  had  fol 
lowed  her  from  the  tent,  grew  impatient ;  he  came  closer 
to  her  ;  he  pushed  his  cold  nose  into  her  hand  and 
whined.  And  surely  there  must  have  been  something 
reassuring  in  the  very  touch  of  this  unexpected  com 
panionship,  for  now  she  turned  suddenly  and  knelt 
down  beside  him,  and  laid  her  cheek  against  his  delicate 
head. 

"  Lione,"  she  said  with  childish  earnestness,  "  tell  me, 
Lione,  how  will  it  end?"  She  looked  wistfully  out  into 
the  darkness.  "  I  have  waited  so  long,"  she  said,  "  I 
have  been  so  patient  —  " 

The  dog  whined  again  and  looked  up  in  her  face  and 
laid  his  paw  on  her  hand.  Some  one  threw  back  the 
door  of  the  tent ;  a  stream  of  light  poured  out  into  the 
night,  and  a  voice  called  "  Constance  !  "  And  presently 
Constance  came.  She  came  in  very  quietly ;  she  sat 
down  beside  the  table ;  she  took  up  a  book.  When 
Fanny  made  some  remark  she  answered  it.  But  she 
was  very  silent  all  the  evening,  and  Stuart  remembered 
aftei~ward  how  pale  she  was,  and  how  she  did  not  give 
him  her  hand  as  they  bade  each  other  "Good-night." 

"Mrs.  Thayer,"  said  Davenant,  reining  up  his  horse 
beside  her,  late  on  the  following  afternoon,  "  Mrs. 
Thayer,  do  you  know  that  in  five  minutes  more  we  shall 
have  reached  the  road  ? " 

It  was  the  first  road  they  had  seen  since  leaving  Jeru 
salem,  and  the  very  horses  seemed  impressed  with  this 


1 84  MIRAGE. 

**fc«^       *"" 

evidence  of  approaching  civilization.  They  hesitated  ; 
they  stood  still ;  they  stepped  daintily  down  upon  this 
smooth,  white  surface.  With  one  accord  they  threw  up 
their  heads  and  went  off  at  a  mad  gallop  beneath  the 
overhanging  cliffs.  And  now  they  passed  a  small 
wooden  station  where  men  with  Arab  faces  and  French 
livery  came  out  to  stare  at  them  as  they  cantered  on  ; 
and  now  a  rumbling,  clattering  diligence  rolled  ponder 
ously  by. 

"  Are    you   sorry  to   be  back  in   the  world   again  ?  " 
asked  Ferris,  with  a  smile.     He  had  taken  a  good  deal 
of  artistic  interest  in  watching  Miss  Varley's  face  these 
last  two  days.     As  a  general  rule  Mr.  Ferris  care&very. 
little  for  women. 

This  was  to  be  the  last  camp  —  at  Dimas.  As  they 
got  off  their  horses  in  front  of  the  white  row  of  tents  it 
was  with  a  certain  feeling  of  reluctance.  The  pleasant, 
familiar  life  was  at  an  end. 

It  was  only  a  bare  and  colorless  desert  which  stretched 
before  them  now  —  a  low  and  solitary  and  undulating 
waste,  set  about  with  blank  gray  rocks.  But,  as  if  to 
consecrate  with  some  peculiar  beauty  these  last  hours  of 
their  nomad  life,  a  wonderful  sunset  shone  and  flamed 
behind  the  barrier  of  those  pale,  ashen  peaks.  The 
young  men  brought  out  an  armful  of  Turkish  rugs  after 
dinner.  They  spread  them  before  the  tents,  along  the 
terrace-wall ;  they  smoked,  they  drank  their  coffee,  they 
watched  the  slow  and  splendid  procession  of  the  clouds. 

Somehow  the  conversation  had  fallen  upon  Lawrence. 

"  By-the-way,  George,"  said  Davenant,  suddenly,  "it 
won't  be  much  of  a  joke,  will  it,  if  you  get  back  to 
Damascus  only  to  find  that  Lawrence  has  left?" 

"  Well,  no.  Particularly  as  I  have  got  those  sketches 
with  me.  But —  Oh,  he  will  be  there  fast  enough," 
said  Ferris  confidently. 

•  "  I  'm  not  so  sure  about  that.    We  agreed  to  be  only  a 
fortnight,  you  know  ;  and  it 's  more  than  three  weeks  —  " 

"What,  you  think  he  will  be  gone  then  ?  I  hope  not. 
I  should  be  sorry  to  miss  seeing  Lawrence  again.  But 


DAWN.  185 

where  did  he  think  of  going  to,  any  way  ? "  asked  the 
Major. 

Mr.  Ferris  was  engaged  in  lighting  his  cigar.  It  was 
an  act  requiring  some  deliberation  in  this  high  wind, 
which  was  perhaps  the  reason  of  his  delay  in  answering. 

"Oh  —  it's  only  some  nonsense  of  Davenant's,"  he 
said  uneasily  ;  "  Lawrence  thought  something  of  going 
to  Persia  once.  He  never  meant  it." 

"Oh,  didn't  he  though?"  said  Davenant.  "Why,  I 
saw  the  beautiful  —  " 

Ferris  turned  on  his  elbow  and  looked  at  him. 

"  It  is  a  pity  the  ladies  are  missing  all  this  sunset," 
he  remarked  quietly.  "I  never  saw  a  finer  one.  Ah, 
there  they  are  at  last." 

He  got  up  and  offered  his  place  to  Constance.  The 
talk  drifted  in  another  way. 

But  somehow  Davenant  seemed  possessed  with  one 
idea.  They  had  been  speaking  of  the  ruined  temples, 
and  some  one  had  observed  how  strange  it  was  that 
there  never  should  have  been  any  expression  of  plastic 
art  in  Judaea. 

It  was  easy  enough  to  understand,  the  young  English 
man  averred  boldly.  For  what  was  the  existence  of 
plastic  art  but  an  admission  of  a  sense  of  the  regnant 
force  of  physical  beauty?  What  was  Greek  art  itself 
but  a  recognition  that  beauty  is  a  form  of  goodness  ? 
And  what  was  Christianity  but  the  passionate  pleading 
and  protest  of  the  suffering  soul  against  the  pagan  idea  ? 

"  For  my  part,  I  would  rather  not  be  merely  an  angel," 
said  Mr.  Davenant  ;  "  I  love  the  earth.  When  I  die  I 
should  wish  to  be  like  one  of  the  old  Hellenic  shades, 
stiil  rejoicing  and  sorrowing  over  the  fortunes  of  my 
race  —  full  of  sad  wisdom  and  pity  unutterable." 

"But  really,  Mr.  Davenant  — !  "  said  Fanny. 

"  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  it,  of  course,"  the  young 
man  said,  evidently  following  out  his  own  line  of  thought. 
"  But  how  could  you  expect  an  expression  of  pure  art 
from  a  mixed  people  ?  How  could  Syria  produce  any 
thing  but  a  literature,  when  every  civilization  of  the  old 


1 86  MIRAGE. 

"'•>-.  " 
world  —  Assyrian,     Persian,     Egyptian,     Indian  —  had 

poured  their  science,  their  legends,  and  their  influence 
over  the  land  ?  If  you  destroy  the  purity  of  the  race, 
you  have  set  the  death-seal  on  the  possibility  of  a  pure 
and  distinctive  art." 

"  Now  hold  on  a  moment,  Davenant.  I  protest  as 
an  American  —  " 

"  As  an  American,  my  dear  boy,  you  merely  serve  to 
illustrate  my  theory.  Why,  look  here.  If  you  want  a 
case  in  point,  take  Lawrence.  We  were  speaking  of 
Lawrence  before  you  came,  Miss  Varley  — " 

"  Yes  ?  "  said  Constance. 

She  was  leaning  on  her  elbow,  playing  with  the  amber 
beads  about  her  wrist.  But  now  she  looked  up  and 
listened. 

"  He  is  half  a  Frenchman,  you  know.  At  least,  his 
mother's  family  was  French  —  " 

"  Southerners." 

"Well,  French  Southerners  then.  They  had  French 
blood  in  them  at  all  events.  And  what  is  the  conse 
quence  ?  Why,  Lawrence  is  born  a  cosmopolitan.  His 
feelings,  his  sympathies  —  " 

"  A  cosmopolitan  ?  That  is  to  say,  a  man  belonging 
to  nowhere  in  particular.  A  cosmopolitan  !  Why,  I  'd 
sooner  be  a  flying-fish,"  said  Jack. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

AFTER    MANY    DAYS. 

DAVENANT  looked  back  ;   there  was  a  great  light 
of  enthusiasm  on  his  face. 

"  '  For  are  not  Abana  and  Pharpar,'  "  he  said,  "  '  are 
not  Abana  and  Pharpar,  rivers  of  Damascus,  better  than 
all  the  waters  of  Israel  ? ' ' 

They  had  left  Dimas  in  the  early  morning,  and  already 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS.  187 

the  sky  was  paling  with  the  noonday  heat.  It  was  a 
strange  country  they  were  passing  through.  For  hours 
they  had  ridden  across  the  short,  dead  turf  of  the  plain 
beside  a  blank,  white  road.  It  was  a  land  of  vast  rolling 
slopes  —  the  dark,  reddish  soil  broken  here  and  there  by 
the  ploughman's  furrow.  A  country  bare  of  vegetation, 
shadowless,  naked,  vast,  and  grand,  because  of  two  grand 
things  —  simple  forms  and  solitude. 

It  was  some  time  now  since  they  had  left  the  baggage- 
train  behind  them  ;  the  slow-moving  palanquin  had 
dwindled  to  a  mere  black  spot,  crawling  along  the  road. 

"  It  was  a  capital  idea  to  make  you  ride  this  morning," 
the  Major  told  his  wife. 

"  Look  here,  Constance,  I  wish  you  would  be  reason 
able  and  change  horses  with  either  Ferris  or  me,"  Mr. 
Stuart  observed  confidentially  ;  "  that  brute  shies  ;  why, 
he  jumps  across  the  road  at  the  shadow  of  a  leaf  ! " 

"  Yes,"  said  Constance  absently.  "  But  I  like  Shai- 
tan,"  she  said,  turning  her  face  towards  him  with  a 
smile. 

There  was  a  singular  elegance  and  precision  about 
her  every  gesture  that  morning.  The  young  man  noted 
with  a  certain  surprise  that  she  moved  more  slowly. 
She  spoke  little,  but  her  gentle  voice  seemed  to  have 
grown  clearer,  more  bell-like  in  tone,  and  tense,  like  the 
tense  cord  of  an  instrument.  Her  very  riding-dress  was 
adjusted  with  more  than  usual  care. 

"  Can  you  fancy  being  so  excited  over  the  mere  ap 
proach  to  a"  city, — a  city  where  there  is  no  society  nor 
any  thing?"  Mrs.  Thayer  -asked  Ferris  with  an  indul 
gent  smile. 

They  had  passed  the  last  mail-station,  and  now  there 
came  a  descent,  an  unexpected  turn  in  the  long  and 
weary  road.  A  bald  and  sun-scorched  cliff  rose  up  on 
either  side  ;  the  reflected  heat  was  intense  ;  they  had 
left  the  grass,  and  the  dust  was  rising  in  choking  clouds 
about  the  horses'  feet. 

And  now  Davenant  looked  back. 

A  sudden  turn  in  the  road  ;  a  sudden  rush  of  streams  ; 


1 88  MIRAGE. 

coolness  and  shade  —  the  sense  of  running  water  and 
the  shade  of  trees  —  slow-swaying  poplars  and  leafy 
walnuts,  and  the  sunlight  shining  through  pale  apple- 
blooms. 

"'For  are  not  Abana  and  Pharpar,' "  the  young  man 
said,  " '  are  not  Abana  and  Pharpar,  rivers  of  Damascus, 
better  than  all  the  waters  of  Israel?' ' 

The  river  foamed  and  whitened  under  overhanging 
branches  ;  the  cliffs  towered  up  higher  behind  them  ; 
the  "golden-flowing"  waters  sank  lower  out  of  -sight. 
"And  now  we  shall  see  the  city  soon,"  said  Davenant 
to  Constance. 

She  looked  up  and  smiled,  and  did  not  answer.  -  The. 
inconclusiveness  of  all  her  past  experience  had  never 
fitted  her  for  a  moment  like  this.  She  had  spent  her 
life  in  dreaming  of  happiness  until  its  reality  had  as 
sumed  the  aspect  of  a  clream.  She  followed  the  others 
as  in  a  vision  ;  she  heard  them  laughing,  talking  about 
her,  riding  faster  and  faster  down  the  narrowing  moun 
tain-gorge  ;  and  the  rapid  motion,  the  clattering  of  hoofs, 
the  rush  of  the  water,  seemed  sweeping  her  onward  in 
a  sort  of  trance. 

And  now  they  galloped  out  again  into  the  blinding" 
sunlight  ;  they  left  the  road  ;  before  them  rose  a  low, 
white  range  of  hills,  and  on  the  rocky  crest  a  small, 
white  building  with  a  dome.  They  left  the  horses  ;  they 
toiled  up  the  sandy  path.  Stuart  was  the  first  one  in 
the  doorway.  "  Come  in,"  he  said.  He  offered  Con 
stance  his  hand ;  he  watched  with  a  curious  Interest  the 
sudden  light  in  her  eyes,  the  sudden  flush  of  color  on 
her  cheek.  For  they  had  stepped  out  upon  a  small,  rocky 
plateau  where  a  swarm  of  yellow  butterflies  hovered 
about  the  stones.  Beneath  them  lay  a  city  and  a  plain 
—  a  wilderness  of  deep  up-springing  green  —  a  curving 
line  of  warm-tinted  houses  and  glittering  mosques  and 
sharply-piercing  minarets.  And  beyond  that  rose  the 
violet  mountains  grown  silver-pale  in  the  blinding  heat ; 
and  beyond  that  the  pale  border-line  of  infinite  desert 
space ;  and  all  about  the  city  a  network  of  shining 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS.  189 

streams,  a  foam  of  blossoming  trees,  circled  and  crowned 
the  gardens  of  Damascus. 

They  sat  down  in  the  shade  of  the  building;  for 
awhile  they  sat  there  in  silence,  looking  at  this  won 
derful  sight.  But  the  more  prosaic  a  nature,  the  sooner 
does  it  grow  familiar  with  rare  beauty.  Hardly  a  moment 
had  passed  before  Mrs.  Thayer  and  Stuart  were  dis 
puting  some  detail  in  the  view ;  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
they  had  completely  forgotten  its  existence.  Jack  was 
hungry,  and  Fanny  forg^*;  to  turn  her  head  as  they 
descended  the  hill. 

And  Constance  followed  them  down  as  in  a  dream. 
They  mounted  their  horses  again  ;  they  rode  past  miles 
of  blossom-whitened  orchards,  by  winding  rivers,  through 
poplar  groves  and  hedges  white  with  may.  And  tall, 
white  irises  rose  up  beside  the  full  and  silent  stream ; 
and  now  they  had  reached  the  level  of  the  plain,  and 
passed  the  first  bridge  and  seen  the  first  house,  all  gilded 
and  gay  with  fantastic  tracery  on  its  walls,  and  hidden 
in  deep  trees. 

"  And  this  is  Damascus,"  said  Davenant.  But  Con 
stance  did  not  answer.  She  rode  on  at  foot-pace, 
checking  her  horse  until  the  hot-mouthed  brute  curveted 
and  pranced,  flecking  his  breast  with  foam.  And  she 
rode  steadily  forward,  reining  him  in,  erect,  silent,  look 
ing  straight  ahead  with  wide  open  eyes  and  a  smile  of 
vague  triumph  on  the  proud  and  sensitive  mouth. 

It  was  a  moment  of  exquisite  delight.  The  barriers 
were  down,  the  long  anguish  of  patience  at  an  end. 
She  had  risen  to  the  climax  of  her  experience  —  the 
culminating  hour  of  youth,  in  which  she  held  and  pos 
sessed  the  world.  The  barriers  were  all  down,  the  years 
of  restraint  at  an  end ;  a  surging  flood  of  love  —  love 
irresistible,  compelling,  supreme  —  had  obliterated  the 
last  landmark  of  her  past.  She  rode  beneath  the 
flowering  branches,  and  the  sunshine  crowned  her  hair 
with  golden  touches,  and  the  light  wind  showered  frail, 
perfumed  petals  at  her  feet ;  and  the  song  of  the  birds 
had  a  meaning,  the  sky  was  cloudless,  and  all  the  world 


IQO  MIRAGE. 

°">^  *• 
was  full  of  gracious  promise  of  fast-coming  summer,  as 

she  passed  through  the  gates  of  the  earthly  paradise  to 
take  possession  of  her  life. 

Presently  they  reached  the  hotel.  They  rode  down 
the  tortuous  street  called  Straight,  and  dismounted  at  a 
small  postern-door.  It  was  their  first  experience  of  the 
interior  of  a  Damascene  house,  and  they  looked  about 
with  some  curiosity  at  the  cool  and  spacious  court,  the 
shady  divan,  the  formal  rows  of  orange-trees,  the  plash 
ing  fountain  in  its  marble  tank. 

And  here  for  a  time  the  party  separated.  Davenant 
and  Ferris  had  rooms  elsewhere  in  town. 

"I  shall  see  you  again  this  evening.  We  are  alt  here- 
more  or  less  in  the  evening,"  the  latter  said,  as  he 
stopped  to  shake  hands  with  Constance. 

She  looked  up  eagerly,  as  though  about  to  ask  some 
question.  Davenant  was  watching  her. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon ;  I  did  not  hear  what  you 
said  ? " 

She  smiled,  and  shook  her  head,  and  gave  him  her 
hand.  It  was  nothing.  The  two  young  men  walked 
down  the  street  together  for  some  distance  without 
speaking. 

"  It  is  a  pity,  for  there  is  the  unsatisfied  soul  of  a 
poet  in  that  nature,"  said  'Davenant  suddenly,  with 
peculiar  emphasis ;  and  Ferris  halted  and  stared. 

He  had  thought  himself  pretty  well  accustomed  to  his 
friend's  mental  vagaries  by  this  time,  but  here  was  a  new 
development — something  in  his  tone,  an  earnestness  of 
conviction  in  his  manner,  which  filled  him  with  amused 
surprise. 

"  Well,  you  are  the  rummiest  beggar,"  he  said  good- 
humoredly.  He  turned  and  scrutinized  with  keen  amuse 
ment  his  companion's  dramatic  face. 

"  As  a  general  rule  I  should  not  advise  you  to  study 
the  unsatisfied  souls  of  your  young  lady  acquaintances 
too  closely,  my  boy,"  he  said  dryly ;  "  you  might  find 
Stuart  objecting  to  the  process,  you  see." 

They  walked  on  a  few  paces. 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS. 


"Shall  we  go  and  find  out  what's  become  of  that 
fellow  Lawrence  ?  "  said  George. 

Constance  had  gone  up  to  where  the  Major  was  busy 
settling  conditions  with  the  turbaned  proprietor  of  the 
inn.  She  slipped  her  hand  under  his  arm  and  stood 
silently  by  his  side. 

"Well,  Constance?" 

"I  like  that  man's  embroidered  jacket,"  Miss  Varley 
answered  vaguely.  She  dipped  her  fingers  into  the  water 
and  then  dried  them  elaborately  on  her  handkerchief. 
"  You  are  going  —  are  you  going  to  the  Consulate, 
Tom  ?  " 

For  letters  ?  Well,  yes  ;  the  Major  had  thought  some 
thing  of  going  there. 

"  Is  there  any  thing  I  can  do  for  you  ?  "  he  asked  with 
a  smile.  He  looked  curiously  at  her.  "  Is  there  any 
thing  you  want  to  know  ?  " 

She  turned  her  face  away.  This  last  hour  had  brought 
its  own  experience.  She  felt  weaker,  less  sure  of  herself. 
She  felt,  as  never  before,  a  sudden  craving  for  support 
and  confidence. 

"  Is  there  any  thing  I  can  do  for  you  ?  "  the  Major 
repeated. 

She  lifted  up  her  honest  eyes.  "  Yes,"  she  said  shyly, 
her  lips  growing  pale  with  the  effort. 

It  was  then  that  Fanny  came  up  with  some  question 
about  the  rooms. 

"  I  will  see  about  it,"  her  husband  said.  He  turned 
to  Constance.  "  You  are  going  to  the  bazaars,  you  two  ? 
I  shall  take  Hassan.  If  I  hear  any  news  about  any  one 
—  about  —  about  Aunt  Van,  for  instance,  —  I  will  bring 
it  to  you  with  your  letters,"  he  said  significantly. 

"Very  well."     The  girl  nodded  assent. 

"You  may  expect  me  in  —  well,  say  in  a  couple  of 
hours,"  the  Major  said.  He  took  up  his  stick.  "  You 
are  coming,  Stuart?" 

"  Now,  don't  forget  that  we  are  waiting,  Tom,"  expos 
tulated  Mrs.  Thayer. 

Some  people  coming  in  at  that  moment  hardly  glanced 


1 92  MIRAGE. 

at  the  middle-aged  man  crossing  the  courtyard,  Before 
turning  to  gaze  curiously  at  the  handsome  girl  he  had 
just  left.  But  in  her  eyes,  at  least,  that  commonplace 
gray  figure  was  suddenly  invested  with  all  the  dignity 
of  fate.  "  In  a  couple  of  hours,"  he  had  said.  Her  breath 
came  quicker  with  suppressed  emotion.  She  put  her 
hand  up,  uncertainly,  to  her  lips.  In  a  couple  of  hours. 
Her  secret  seemed  slipping  out  of  her  grasp. 

Not  long  after  that  they  went  into  the  bazaar.  They 
went  in  with  a  Damascene  courier,  a  wily  Greek,  with 
sleek  face  and  black,  uneasy  eyes.  From  time  to  time 
Mrs.  Thayer  was  struck  with  the  peculiar  fashion  in 
which  he  seemed  analyzing  her  dress.  V 

"  One  would  think  the  man  had  never  seen  a  woman 
in  his  life  !  "  she  complained  petulantly  to  Constance. 

"  He  seems  to  me  more  interested  in  the  cut  of  your 
over-dress,  dear,"  said  the  latter  with  a  laugh. 

It  was  a  Saturday  afternoon,  and  the  streets  were 
crowded.  Men  in  white,  men  in  scarlet,  men  in  turbans, 
in  fezes,  in  scanty  cotton  shirts  and  flowing  robes  of 
silk,  passed  and  repassed  in  mute  and  splendid  throngs. 
A  dusty,  pulverized  sunshine  filtered  softly  through  the 
chinks  in  the  boards  overhead,  piercing  the  deep,  am 
ber-toned  shadow  with  sudden  revelations  and  jewels  of 
light.  Now  and  then  the  wild,  melancholy  cry  of  a 
camel-driver,  following  the  slow  and  swaying  footsteps 
of  his  beasts,  jarred  on  the  golden  silence  with  strange 
suggestion  of  far-off  desert  space. 

They  strolled  slowly  down  the  length  of  the  silk  ba 
zaar,  lingering  here  and  there  as  their  eyes  were  caught 
by  some  pigeon-throated  gleam  of  color,  or  the  wind 
brought  them  some  new  and  subtle  hint  of  fragrant 
gums  and  the  prisoned  roses  of  Ispahan.  And  now  the 
guide  stopped  and  gazed  at  Fanny  persuasively. 

"  It  is  Saturday,  madame,  if  you  would  see  the  house 
of  one  Jew  ?  Very  fine  house,"  he  suggested. 

Mrs.  Thayer  was  charmed  with  the  idea.  They  en 
tered  another  courtyard  ;  it  was  a  larger,  more  sumptu 
ous  interior  than  any  they  had  seen.  An  old  woman, 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS.  1 93 

carrying  a  nargileh,  was  crossing  the  court  before  them, 
her  high,  inlaid  pattens  making  a  clicking  sound  upon 
the  marble  floor.  The  courier  hailed  her.  They  spoke 
for  a  moment  or  two  in  shrill,  emphatic  voices. 

"  She  will  call  the  ladies  to  see  you,"  the  man  ob 
served  with  a  complacent  air. 

He  led  them  to  a  marble  divan  ;  there  was  a  Persian 
rug  upon  the  inlaid  pavement :  some  gold-embroidered 
cushions  ;  a  gaily-painted  wall  from  which  the  plaster 
fell  in  patches.  It  was  now  about  three  o'clock:  a  still 
and  burning  afternoon.  The  broad  fig-leaf  shadows  lay 
motionless  upon  the  pavement ;  the  blue  of  the  sky  was 
dulled  and  dark  with  heat.  They  sat  down  amongst 
the  tumbled,  tinselled  cushions ;  presently  a  door 
opened  on  the  other  side  of  the  court.  A  group  of  un 
veiled  women  came  slowly  out  into  the  blazing  sun 
shine  ;  they  dropped  their  pattens  at  the  foot  of  the 
divan  and  crossed  languidly  over  to  where  Fanny  was 
sitting. .  They  threw  themselves  down  on  the  cushions 
and  gazed  fixedly  at  their  guests. 

"  It  is  the  sister  of  the  gentleman  what  keeps  this 
house.  You  wait ;  p'raps  by-and-by  see  the  wife,"  the 
guide  informed  them  in  a  whisper. 

And  now  another  servant  appeared,  in  loose,  white 
dress,  bearing  a  tray  of  glasses.  And  then  came  nargi- 
lehs,  and  then  a  long  pause. 

The  sunlight  flickered  on  gold-wrought  head-dresses, 
on  brown  and  naked  feet,  on  long,  delicate,  sinuous 
forms.  Presently  a  half-grown  lad  lifted  the  curtain  be 
hind  them,  a  lad  with  a  smooth,  yellow  face  and  a  wizened 
look,  and  dull  and  restless  eyes.  He  came  slowly  down 
the  steps  and  spoke  to  the  interpreter  with  a  certain 
listless  condescension.  A  shrill  series  of  exclamations 
followed  suddenly  upon  his  entrance ;  a  woman  rose 
from  the  group  and  touched  Miss  Varley  on  the  arm. 
"  You  go  in  other  room,  see  his  wife,"  the  guide  ex 
plained  complacently. 

There  were  three  women  sitting  in  this  inner  chamber 
—  three  Jewesses,  with  hard  and  splendid  eyes,  with  loose 

12 


194  MIRAGE. 

*^w       w. 

shawls  about  their  waists,  and  close-fitting  caps  thick 
set  with  pomegranate  blossoms  and  artificial  flowers  anc 
glittering  diamond  studs.  Some  little  children  were 
sprawling  on  the  carpet  at  their  feet ;  the  walls  were 
painted  with  intricate  tracery  of  color  ;  a  coarse,  cheap 
lithograph  hung  high  under  the  vaulted  ceiling  against 
some  precious  Persian  tiles.  A  table,  covered  with  a 
cloth,  stood  against  the  entrance ;  there  was  another 
tray  of  sweetmeats,  a  new  set  of  silver-mouthed  nargi- 
lehs  on  the  floor. 

And  here,  by-the-way,  they  discovered  the  true  purpose 
of  their  visit. 

"  My  lady  come  from  Cairo,"  the  guide  began  insinu 
atingly,  glancing  at  Fanny. 

"  We  have  been  to  Cairo,"  said  Mrs.  Thayer. 

"  Cairo  very  fine  place,. my  lady.  The  Khedive  live  in 
Cairo."  He  took  up  the  fold  of  her  travelling-dress 
between  his  fingers.  "You  get  this  in  Cairo?"  he  said. 

Mrs.  Thayer  smiled  uneasily  ;  she  looked  at  Constance. 
"I  got  it  there  —  yes,"  she  said,  with  some  reluctance. 

And  now  the  man  hesitated.  He  looked  about  him  ; 
the  woman  on  the  divan  followed  his  movements  with  in- 
tensest  interest.  "  My  lady  very  kind.  Very  good  lady. 
P'raps  you  let  one  these  women  see  how  you  make  your 
dress  ?  "  he  suggested  feebly. 

And  Fanny  once  gone,  there  was  nothing  left  to  oc 
cupy  Constance.  A  feverish  restlessness  of  impatience 
had  come  upon  her.  She  sat  there  a  moment  looking 
around  with  blank,  unseeing  eyes  ;  she  got  up,  she  wan 
dered  away  across  the  sunny  court,  and  one  or  two  of 
the  women  rose  and  followed  her. 

She  went  up  the  wooden  staircase  at  the  farther  end  ; 
above  them  was  an  open  terrace,  green  vine-leaves,  and 
the  fierce  red  of  pomegranate  blossoms  in  the  sun.  She 
leaned  over  the  balustrade  and  looked  down  into  the 
court.  A  sleepy  negress  lounged  with  bare  feet  in  the 
shadow  of  the  wall.  There  was  not  a  sound  in  all  the 
house  about  her  but  the  cool  plashing  of  the  fountain  on 
the  stones.  She  leaned  out  over  the  balustrade ;  a  girl 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS.  195 

came  silently  up  the  winding  stair,  and  paused,  and 
leaned  beside  her. 

Constance  turned  her  head  ;  presently  she  recognized 
the  face.  It  was  one  of  the  young  Jewesses,  the  mother 
of  the  little  children  they  had  seen  below.  The  two  girls 
stood  looking  at  each  other  for  a  moment  in  silence  — 
the  representatives  of  two  antagonistic  civilizations  ; 
and  gradually  the  interest  faded  out  of  the  new  comer's 
face.  She  turned  aside  with  the  facile  indifference  of  a 
child.  She  crossed  her  long  arms  above  her  head  with 
superb  nonchalance  ;  dragged  down  a  flowering  branch  of 
vine.  The  leaves  fluttered  slowly  to  the  ground  through 
her  listless  fingers  ;  the  long  lashes  drooped  lower  on 
her  cheek ;  her  light  breathing  hardly  stirred  the  flash 
ing  diamonds  on  her  breast;  she  stood  motionless,  in 
absolute  repose. 

And  Constance  looked  at  her.  I  don't  know  what 
there  was  about  this  woman  to  remind  the  girl  of  Law 
rence.  She  noted  with  a  sudden  sinking  of  heart  every 
detail  of  that  impassioned  and  unremembering  beauty, 
the  perfect  oval  of  her  smooth,  sun-warmed  cheek,  the 
rings  of  shadow  about  those  delicate  temples,  the  vapid, 
scarlet  mouth,  the  dark  mystery  of  the  beautiful,  cruel 
eyes.  These  were  the  women  he  had  been  seeing,  she 
thought.  She  turned  away  abruptly.  She  turned  away 
her  face,  she  looked  up  at  the  blank  blue  sky  above  her, 
and  her  own  eyes  filled  with  miserable  tears.  She  dashed 
them  indignantly  away.  The  white  walls  in  the  sunshine 
flashed  and  flickered  before  her,  and  she  stared  down  at 
them,  a  great  sense  of  impatience,  a  bitter  feeling  of  im 
potence  rising  slowly  within  her  as  she  looked.  She 
pressed  her  hand  hard  against  the  wooden  balustrade 
until  it  left  a  bruise  across  the  soft,  white  flesh. 

The  Jewess  laughed  ;  a  small,  green  worm  had  crawled 
out  from  between  the  leaves.  She  laughed  ;  she  broke 
off  a  branch  from  the  tree  beside  her,  stripping  it  slowly 
of  its  leaves,  her  eyes  fixed  exultingly  upon  the  crawling 
insect.  And  now  she  leaned  curiously  forward,  with  a 
quick  movement  —  a  sudden  look  of  hatred  and  dis- 


196  MIRAGE. 

^_____ ", __ 

">^  f- 

gust  flashing  over  her  face.  She  struck  the  thing  with 
the  end  of  her  stick  •  she  threw  it  against  the  wall, 
thrusting  it  back  and  striking  at  it  again  and  again  — 
her  whole  figure  instinct  and  supple  with  savage  and 
futile  delight. 

Involuntarily  Constance  put  out  her  hand. 

"Oh,  don't,  please  don't,"  she  said. 

It  was  a  scene  she  remembered  long  afterward  — 
the  blazing  sunlight,  the  cruel,  foolish  laughter  of  her 
companion,  the  wretched  insect  crushed  beneath  their 
feet.  For  it  was  at  that  moment  she  heard  a  voice  call 
ing  her.  "  Come  down,  Coustance  !  The  letters^'are 
here." 

She  rose  to  her  feet  and  went  forward  a  step.  "  It 
has  come,"  putting  out  a  hand  blindly. 

Hassan  was  waiting  for  her  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 
She  brushed  past  him  ;  she  went  up  to  Fanny  :  "  Well  ?  " 

Mrs.  Thayer  did  not  answer  for  a  moment.  She  held 
an  open  letter  in  her  hand.  There  was  something 
which  amused  her  ;  she  laughed,  and  crushed  the  thin, 
blue  paper  in  her  fingers. 

"  Well  ?  Oh,  yes  ;  I  had  forgotten.  There  is  a  note 
from  Tom  somewhere.  We  are  to  meet  him.  Why, 
Constance,  what's  the  matter  with  you  ?  Are  you  ill  ? " 

"I  —  oh,  it  is  the  sun,  I  suppose.  I  have  been 
standing  in  the  sun,"  incoherently.  And  then,  her  face 
flushing :  "  You  said  there  was  a  letter  for  me  to  read  ? " 

It  was  a  leaf  torn  from  a  note-book,  and  written  in 
pencil. 

"  DEAR  F.  —  Tell  the  guide  to  take  you  to  Aboo 
Antika's.  Will  wait  for  you  there.  I  send  the  letters 
by  Hassan.  There  is  a  pile  of  them  here  waiting  for 
Aunt  Van.  And,  by-the-way,  tell  Constance  they  knew 
nothing  about  Lawrence  at  the  bank,  but  I  have  seen 
the  consul's  dragoman.  He  thinks  Lawrence  has  left 
for  Bagdad." 


UN  ENFANT  DU  SIECLE.  197 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

UN    ENFANT   DU   SIECLE. 

AND  about  the  same  time  that  Miss  Varley  was 
reading  this  letter,  Mr.  Ferris  was  standing  in 
front  of  a  closed  door,  making  the  quiet  street  resound 
with  his  impatient  knocking. 

After  three  or  four  minutes  of  this  exercise  there 
came  a  slow  and  distant  shuffling  of  feet. 

"  The  old  idiot !  "  said  Ferris,  between  his  teeth.  He 
knocked  again.  The  steps  drew  nearer  and  paused  ;  a 
hand  fumbled  about  the  latch. 

"  You  had  better  be  careful  how  you  introduce  dan 
gerous  characters  into  this  palace  of  yours,  my  friend," 
the  young  man  remarked  with  a  certain  good-natured 
contempt.  He  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket,  and  took 
out  a  small  piece  of  money :  "  Here,  Methuselah  !  " 

The  Arab's  eyes  lightened  in  their  dim  sockets  ;  he 
bowed  profoundly  ;  a  smile  flickered  over  his  austere 
and  covetous  face. 

But  Mr.  Ferris  did  not  linger  to  observe  his  sensa 
tions.  He  walked  on  with  an  assured  and  familiar  step 
through  the  hot  sunshine  between  the  walls.  There 
was  a  disused  bath-house  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
courtyard;  a  fig-tree  drooped  before  its  entrance;  he 
put  aside  the  branches  and  looked  in. 

There  was  an  artist's  easel  in  the  corner,  and  the 
artist  himself  standing  before  it,  whistling  in  an  under 
tone,  and  measuring  something  about  his  picture  with  a 
string.  As  a  shadow  fell  over  his  canvas  he  turned  his 
head.  He  caught  sight  of  Ferris  and  put  out  his  hand, 
with  a  quick  look  of  pleasure  on  his  face.  It  was  a 
singularly  mobile  and  sensitive  countenance  for  an 


198  MIRAGE. 

T»--  *~ 

American  :  hardly  effeminate,  and  yet  you  were  puzzled 
by  its  suggestion  of  a  woman's  face  until  you  noticed 
the  changeable  gray  eyes,  and  realized  how  much  this 
man  must  look  like  his  mother. 

He  was  a  slightly-built  young  fellow  too,  rather  under 
than  above  the  average  height,  with  small,  clear-cut 
features,  a  very  firm  and  beautiful  mouth,  a  quiet  and 
rather  indolent  manner.  Major  Thayer  had  called  him 
insignificant-looking,  once ;  no  woman  would  have  used 
the  epithet. 

"  Well,  George  !  " 

"  Ah  !  they  told  me  I  should  find  you  here/'  ^aid 
Ferris. 

"  Been  back  long  ? " 

"  About  three  hours.  I  went  up  to  the  house  for  you 
first.  They  said  you  had  moved  your  traps  over  to  the 
other  shop." 

Lawrence  nodded.  "  Old  Ahmed  is  only  waiting  for 
his  brother's  camels  now  to  start.  I  have  been  expect 
ing  to  be  off  any  day  this  last  week,"  taking  up  his 
palette  and  brushes  and  turning  to  his  work.  "  I  am  glad 
you  are  back  again  in  time  to  see  me  off,  old  boy.  I 
had  almost  given  you  up." 

"  Oh,  Davenant  would  stop  ;"  absently  this,  and  with 
an  air  of  chagrin.  "  We  have  been  travelling  with 
some  people —  Hollo!  Why,  when  did  you  do  that? 
That  is  a  good  bit,  by  Jove  !  Deuced  good.  And 
how  well  that  figure  comes  in  there.  Who  is  it?  not 
Abdallah  ?  " 

"  No,  the  other  one  ;  I  don't  know  his  name.  The 
little  chap  who  used  to  clean  my  brushes  for  me.  I  had 
him  in  here  one  day,  and —  Here's  another  thing  you 
haven't  seen,"  taking  up  a  second  canvas  from  the 
corner. 

Mr.  Ferris  looked  at  it  critically  for  a  moment. 

"Yes  ;  I  don't  know  where  it  is  exactly." 

"  In  the  Arms  Bazaar.  I  've  been  working  down  there 
a  good  deal  of  late.  The  only  thing  finished  is  the 
background,  of  course.  The  figures  are  only  indicated 


UN  ENFANT  DU  SIECLE.  199 

you  see.  I've  been  making  some  separate  studies  for 
those." 

"  I  see.  I  don't  seem  to  fancy  that  sky  much,  Law 
rence.  Painty,  isn't  it,  rather?  There 's  a  good  bit  of 
work  there  on  that  wall." 

"  You  think  so  ?  I  shan't  have  time  to  do  much  more 
to  it,  I  'in  afraid,"  taking  up  the  canvas,  and  looking  at 
it  regretfully. 

"  Well,  I  'm  sorry  to  hear  you  say  that,"  Ferris  answered 
gravely. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  ;  then  the  older  man 
glanced  up  from  his  work. 

"  Will  you  smoke  ?  " 

"  I  've  got  some  here,"  taking  out  his  own  cigar- 
case. 

"  Yes  ;  I  'm  sorry  to  hear  you  are  going,  Lawrence. 
It 's  a  mistake  —  a  foolish  business  all  round.  I  wish," 
said  Ferris  suddenly,  "  I  wish  you  would  give  it  up,  old 
fellow.  I  wish  to  heaven  old  Ahmed  would  refuse  to 
take  you  !  " 

Lawrence  laughed.  "  Wait  till  you  see  the  picture  I 
bring  back.  There  is  not  another  face  in  the  East  like 
it — not  one.  It  is  a  type  apart.  And  then  the 
romance  of  the  thing,  my  boy ;  the  shadowless  mystery 
of  it  all  ;  the  long  desert  journey  ;  the  illimitable  desert 
skies  ;  the  silence  of  waste  places  —  " 

"  Et  cetera.  I  should  expect  to  hear  that  sort  of 
stuff  from  Davenant,"  said  Ferris. 

His  companion  laughed  again  good-naturedly.  "  Well, 
he  isn't  wrong  half  the  time,  the  little  beggar.  Beauty 
is  a  form  of  goodness,  I  daresay.  At  all  events,  it 's  the 
form  best  suited  to  my  comprehension.  And  you  forget 
the  picture  I  mean  to  paint  —  " 

"  Provided  that  old  fool  Ahmed  will  let  you  paint  her, 
which  I,  for  one,  don't  believe.  I  sincerely  hope  he 
won't.  Why,  the  whole  thing  is  an  absurdity  on  the 
face  of  it !  A  six-weeks'  journey  with  a  mob  of  half 
civilized  savages  across  a  desert,  on  the  chance  of  paint 
ing  a  girl  you  have  only  seen  once,  and  that  by  acci- 


200  MIRAGE. 

dent.  Why,  if  you  did  see  her  you  could  not  "'even 
speak  !  " 

"  And  I  'm  not  so  sure  that  is  not  the  best  part  of  it 
all,"  said  Lawrence  lightly.  "  That  and  the  getting  to 
Ispahan.  I  've  been  studying  Persian  while  you  were 
away,  Ferris.  Old  Ahmed  is  a  capital  master.  On  the 
whole,  I  am  not  so  sure  I  shall  not  propose  to  marry 
into  the  family,  and  turn  camel-driver  myself.  But  the 
choice  is  between  the  Desert  and  Constantinople.  I 
leave  this  in  any  case,"  turning  to  his  work  with  a  gest 
ure  which  dismissed  the  subject. 

A  silence,  with  nothing  to  break  it  but  the  slow  drip 
ping  of  the  fountain  and  the  rustling  of  the  fig-leavesVout 
there  in  the  sun.  Mr.  Ferris  strolled  over  to  the  window, 
and  began  turning  over  some  prints. 

"  By-the-way,  I  hope  you  knew  I  had  that  portfolio  of 
yours  safely  with  me  ?  "  he  said  :  "  the  one  with  the 
Esdraelon  cartoons.  I  only  found  it  out  at  Jerusalem. 
I  suppose  I  packed  it  up  by  mistake." 

"  Oh,  that 's  all  right,"  said  Lawrence  carelessly. 

He  went  on  with  his  painting.  Before  long  he  got  up, 
walked  back  a  few  steps,  and  looked  intently  at  his  work, 
and  then  a  satisfied  look  came  into  his  face.  In  a 
moment  he  began  singing  softly  to  himself  :  — 

Si  je  vous  le  disais  pourtant,  que  je  vous  aime, 

Qui  sait,  brune  aux  yeux  bleus,  ce  que  vous  en  diriez  ? 

L'amour,  le  vous  savez  — 

"You're  a  little  in  my  light,  old  fellow." 
L'amour,  vous  le  savez,  cause  une  peine  extreme. 

"But  I  say,"  breaking  off  his  song  abruptly,  "you 
haven't  told  me  any  thing  about  your  trip  ?  " 

Mr.  Ferris  looked  up  from  the  etchings.  "  I  have  not 
done  much.  A  few  sketches  —  they  are  up  at  the  house 
with  my  traps  —  but  nothing  of  consequence.  I  was 
disappointed  in  the  country,  rather." 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  Lawrence;  "there  are 
fine  things  there  about  Esdraelon.  And  how  did  Dave- 
nant  like  it  ?  You  said  you  had  some  people  with  you  — " 


UN  ENFANT  DU  SIECLE.  2OI 

"  By  Jove  !  I  had  forgotten  all  about  them,"  the  young 
man  said.  "  And  they  are  friends  of  yours,  too.  A 
Major  Thayer  and  his  wife,  and  —  " 

"  Major  Thayer  !  What,  not  old  Tom  Thayer,  surely  ? 
Well,  that  is  a  joke  ;  and  what  the  devil  is  he  doing 
here,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  " 

Well,  Major  Thayer  was  travelling,  Mr.  Ferris  sup 
posed.  Travelling,  like  anybody  else.  His  wife  was  with 
him  too,  and  a  good-looking  man  by  the  name  of  Stuart. 

Lawrence  nodded.  ""  I  know.  Jack  Stuart,  his 
cousin.  I  've  seen  him  once  or  twice." 

"  And  then,"  said  Ferris,  turning  suddenly  and  look 
ing  his  friend  hard  in  the  face,  "  and  then  Miss  Varley 
is  with  them,  too." 

Mr.  Lawrence  looked  up  for  a  moment  with  a  puzzled 
air.  "  Miss  Varley  ? "  he  said  reflectively.  His  face 
lightened.  "  Constance  Varley  !  Ah,  that  is  good  news, 
indeed,"  with  cordial  pleasure.  "  A  nice  girl  that, 
Ferris  ;  and  honest  and  fearless  as  the  day.  I  saw  a 
great  deal  of  her  three  or  four  years  ago,  before  I  left 
home.  We  were  great  friends  that  winter,  I  remember. 
And  so  she  is  here  ?  "  taking  up  his  brushes  again,  and 
touching  his  picture  softly  with  a  pleased  smile.  "  I 
must  go  and  look  them  up.  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  her. 
I  don't  think  she  will  have  forgotten  me." 

Mr.  Ferris  leaned  farther  back  in  his  chair.  "  Miss 
Varley  is  not,  I  should  imagine,  a  person  to  forget  old 
friends.  But  if  you  are  so  much  interested  in  her,"  with 
another  keen  glance  of  inquiry,  "  if  you  are  interested, 
you  may  care  to  hear  that  she  is  going  to  be  married  to 
Mr.  Stuart  shortly." 

Lawrence  started  ;  he  looked  up  incredulously.  "  To 
Stuart  !  Why,  I  had  heard —  To  Stuart!  Constance 
Varley  going  to  marry  that  fellow  !  Why,  it 's  impossi 
ble,  Ferris.  But  are  you  sure  ?  " 

"  She  has  never  told  me  of  it  herself,"  knocking  the 
ash  from  his  cigar  deliberately.  "  Of  course  not.  I 
have  only  known  her  four  or  five  days ;  and  I  hardly 
think  it  is  an  official  engagement  —  yet." 


202  MIRAGE. 

"  But  that  girl  marry  Jack  Stuart !  " 

"Well  —  the  friends  expect  it.  Mrs.  Thayer  told 
Claude.  And  Stuart  seems  a  good  enough  sort  of  fellow 
in  his  way." 

"  I  should  not  have  thought  it  would  have  been  Miss 
Varley's  way,  that 's  all,"  said  Lawrence  dryly.  "  Poor 
little  Constance !  Well,  it 's  the  kind  of  match  that 
must  be  made  in  heaven,  I  suppose.  At  least  I  know 
no  one  on  earth  who  would  care  to  accept  the  responsi 
bility  of  such  a  waste  of  good  material." 

Ferris  smiled.     "  How  about  Mrs.  Thayer  ?  " 

"  Oh  —  Mrs.  Thayer  !  That 's  another  suitable  -mar 
riage  for  you,  if  you  like.  The  fact  is,  marriage  — 1' 

He  stopped,  threw  down  his  brushes  impatiently,  and 
faced  round  on  his  chair. 

"  Give  me  one  of  your  cigars  ;  we  will  talk  of  some 
thing  else.  I  haven't  seen  anybody  to  speak  to  for  a 
fortnight !  I  am  beginning  to  forget  the  sound  of  my 
own  voice." 

The  conversation  became  technical.  They  criticised 
some  pictures.  Ferris  had  been  making  some  experi 
ments  with  a  new  kind  of  quick-drying  oil. 

"  You  could  not  have  a  better  vehicle  for  hasty 
sketches.  You  ought  to  try  it,  Lawrence,"  he  said. 

"  Try  it  ?  Try  what  ?  "  Mr.  Lawrence  started,  and 
begged  his  pardon. 

"The  fact  is,  I  was  thinking  of  something  miles  away. 
I  have  been  living  the  life  of  a  hermit  so  long  I  listen  to 
gossip  like  a  woman,"  with  an  indulgent  smile  at  his  own 
weakness.  "  Now,  this  marriage  of  Miss  Varley's.  But 
you  don't  know  the  girl  as  I  do ;  you  wouldn't  under 
stand.  Why,  that  girl  had  all  the  craving  for  beauty, 
for  expression,  for  utterance  —  She  had  the  tempera 
ment  of  an  artist  once,"  with  a  puzzled  look. 

Ferris  looked  up  slowly.  "No;  I  can't  understand. 
My  own  experience  with  women  —  "  He  got  up  hastily 
and  walked  across  to  the  window.  "God  knows,  it  is 
hard  sometimes  to  understand  what  a  woman  wants,"  with 
a  short  laugh,  a  dark  flush  creeping  over  his  boyish  face. 


UN  ENFANT  DU  SIECLE.  203 

The  other  man  glanced  at  him  quickly,  and  then 
looked  steadily  away.  He  had  heard  something  of 
Ferris's  past  history.  "Poor  old  boy!  he  's  thinking  of 
that  girl  he  was  engaged  to  at  Venice,"  he  thought. 

"  I  wish  you  had  been  here  last  night,"  he  said  aloud. 
"  There  was  a  Mahomedan  festa  of  some  kind  in  the 
great  mosque.  The  bazaar  was  illuminated  ;  there  was 
a  procession  of  dervishes  with  torches.  I  don't  know 
what  saint's  day  they  were  celebrating,  but  the  consul 
sent  all  the  strangers  word  it  was  safer  not  to  show  one's 
pale  Christian  face  abroad." 

"  You  were  there,  of  course." 

"  Well  —  I  find  something  rather  amusing  in  being 
persecuted  for  my  religious  convictions.  I  enjoy  the 
injustice  of  it"  (with  a  laugh)  ;  "for,  personally  speak 
ing,  I  confess  I  am  still  seeking  for  that  Christian  religion 
of  which  I  hear  so  much,  and  which  I  find  neither  in 
superb  cathedrals  erected  in  honor  of  a  dogma,  nor 
in  discourses  adapted  to  the  habits  of  a  fashionable 
congregation,  nor  even  in  religious  picture-frames  and 
'  sincere  '  effects  of  painted  glass,  like  our  friend  Dave- 
nant.  The  Catholics  stultify  and  the  Evangelicals 
starve  me,  and  I  am  too  fastidious  —  well,  too  selfish, 
too  snobbish,  if  you  like  the  word  better  —  to  turn 
Communist.  A  paganism,  tempered  by  epigrams,  is,  I 
believe,  my  present  condition.  When  I  discover  the 
means  of  reconciling  the  irreconcilable  —  of  serving 
God  and  Mammon  with  a  breath  —  I  shall  join  some 
well-established  Church.  But  until  then  "  (carelessly) 
"  I  am  an  experimentalist  —  I  worship  at  the  altar  of 
the  unknown  god." 

"Well,"  said  Ferris,  "I  don't  know.  You  would  call 
it  the  result  of  inherent  Philistinism,  I  suppose,  but  I 
must  say  I  find  heaven  and  earth  about  as  much  as  I 
can  manage,  even  in  their  present  organized  condition. 
To  be  sure  I  should  not  like  to  have  to  admit  that  to 
Davenant." 

"  Davenant !  "  Lawrence  laughed.  "  I  want  to  see 
Davenant.  I  am  curious  to  know  how  Jerusalem  has 


204  MIRAGE. 

affected  him.  When  he  went  away  from  here,  hi?' relig 
ious  formula  reminded  me  rather  of  one  of  those  statues 
of  the  old  gods  you  see  occasionally  in  an  Italian  church. 
It  was  a  Venus  re-baptized  into  a  Virgin,  and  the  halo 
was  newer  than  the  smile.  Have  another  cigar  ?  " 

"Thanks.  Claude  is  a  good  sort  of  fellow,  you 
know,  in  spite  of  all  his  nonsense.  He  strikes  me  as  a 
sort  of  epitomized  Europe.  Now  at  home  —  But  I  am 
curious  to  see  if  he  will  accomplish  any  thing.  He  has 
talent." 

"  Too  cultivated  by  half,"  said  Lawrence  sententiously. 
"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  old  boy  —  this  modern  mania  for 
cultivating  oneself  is  nothing  more  nor  less  than^  sui 
cidal.  Why,  take  the  modern  artist ;  look  at  modern 
art.  It  is  interesting,  if  you  like;  but  what  more? 
Interesting  and  impotent.  And  it  must  be  so,  by  Jove  ! 
it  must,"  sitting  up  and  speaking  with  sudden  energy, 
"for  culture  is  necessarily  self-conscious.  Its  final 
aim  is  refinement,  not  strength ;  beauty,  not  exhilar 
ation  ;  the  thirst  for  perfection  —  and  with  perfection 
melancholy." 

Ferris  was  leaning  back,  his  hands  clasped  behind 
his  head,  staring  placidly  at  the  ceiling. 

"  How  about  the  Greeks  ? "  he  said,  looking  up  with 
an  amused  air. 

It  was  a  long  time  since  he  had  seen  Lawrence  in  one 
of  these  moods. 

"The  Greeks?  You  don't  imagine  that  the  Greeks 
were  cultivated  in  our  sense  of  the  word  ?  Culture  be 
gan  with  the  Renaissance,  my  dear  fellow  —  when  life 
became  complex,  when  morality  interfered,  and  a  man 
ceased  to  lose  sight  of  himself  in  his  art.  Culture,  I 
tell  you,  is  self-conscious,  but  genius  is  personal ;  and 
modern  public  opinion  has  suppressed  personality,  and 
democracy  has  outlawed  it.  And  because  there  is  a 
small  set  of  we  artists  who  see  this,  it  has  become  the 
fashion  to  try  to  be  original  —  to  try  to  be  original,  by 
Jove !  and  men  spend  years  endeavoring  to  be  spon 
taneous.  Why,  look  at  that  thing,"  pointing  to  the 


UN  ENFANT  DU  SIECLE.  205 

picture  on  his  easel  ;  "  look  at  that  thing  if  you  want 
to  know  what  I  mean.  Clever?  of  course  it 's  clever  — 
damnably  so.  And  when  you  think  I  meant  to  paint 
pictures  once  —  Ah,  well !  On  nciit  demi-dieu  et  I'on 
mcurt  epicier  ;  and  that 's  about  the  end  of  it,"  taking  up 
his  brushes  again  with  a  sigh. 

He  went  on  working  in  silence  for  several  minutes, 
and  again  the  fountain  dripped  audibly  through  the 
stillness,  and  the  thin,  cold  light  crept  farther  down  the 
wall.  And  presently  Ferris  rose ;  he  stretched  his 
arms,  he  looked  about  him.  "  I  must  be  going.  I 
promised  to  meet  Major  Thayer.  Are  you  coming 
too  ?  "  he  asked. 

Lawrence  took  out  his  watch  and  looked  at  it. 

"  I  told  the  boy  to  come  for  my  traps  at  five,  and  I 
expect  Ahmed  at  the  cafe'.  But  give  my  compliments 
to  the  ladies.  I  will  call  on  them  at  the  hotel.  And,  I 
say,  Ferris  —  " 

"Well?" 

"  Don't  say  any  thing  to  them  about  my  going  ;  there  's 
a  good  fellow.  I  can't  have  people  canvassing  my 
affairs,  to  begin  with ;  and  then,  the  fact  is,  your-  com 
ing  home  has  demoralized  me.  I  had  forgotten  that 
man  is  a  social  animal  while  you  were  away.  Upon  my 
word,  I  begin  to  think  something  of  leaving  off  work  and 
going  to  Constantinople  instead.  It's  a  plan  that  was 
suggested  to  me  some  time  ago.  I  've  got  some  busi 
ness  there.  That  was  one  of  the  advantages  of  Ispa 
han,"  with  a  peculiar  expression;  "it  is  some  distance 
from  Constantinople." 

"  Well,  provided  you  don't  start  on  that  fool's  errand 
to  Bagdad  —  " 

"  Urgent,  in  season  and  out  of  season,  old  fellow,  eh  ? 
It  is  a  foolish  plan,  I  daresay  ;  but  I  should  have  thought 
you  would  have  appreciated  it,"  smiling.  "  It  was  a 
painter's  whim,  the  dream  of  Un  homme  errant  qui  aims 
passionement  le  bleu" 

"  Un  homme  errant1}  an  erring  man,  I  should  translate 
that,"  said  Ferris,  with  a  careless  laugh. 


206  MIRAGE. 

And  presently  he  went  away.  He  went  out  if*o  the 
open  courtyard,  out  into  the  blazing  sunshine,  his  steps 
echoing  quickly  across  the  sun-scorched  stones ;  and 
now  a  door  slammed  to  behind  him. 

It  was  curious  to  watch  the  change  which  came  over 
Lawrence.  His  whole  expression  altered  suddenly,  as 
only  a  sensitive  face  can  alter.  He  worked  on  dog 
gedly  for  a  minute  or  two  ;  he  got  up  irresolutely  ;  he  took 
a  turn  about  the  room.  A  large  portfolio  of  drawings 
was  lying  open  on  the  chair  where  Ferris  had  left  it. 
He  glanced  at  it  once  or  twice,  and  closed  it  sharply, 
with  a  muttered  exclamation  of  disgust. 

"  By  Jove,  old  George  is  right !  It  is  a  fool's  errand. 
It  is  late,  too,  for  me  to  begin,"  with  a  curious,  restrained 
contempt. 

He  took  a  piece  of  paper  from  his  pocket :  part  of  a 
letter  written  in  French  and  in  a  woman's  hand.  He 
stood  looking  at  it  quietly  for  a  moment,  his  face  grow 
ing  troubled,  his  lips  set  and  stern.  The  paper  was 
folded  in  such  a  fashion  there  was  one  sentence  he 
could  not  help  but  read.  It  began  abruptly:  — 

—  "June,  in  Constantinople?  But  some  time  I  know 
that  you  will  come  back  to  me.  It  may  be  now  :  it  may 
be  long  years  hence,  when  all  the  beautiful  youth  has 
passed  out  of  our  lives,  and  you  will  look  back  to  the 
days  we  were  together,  and  your  heart  will  go  near  to 
breaking  to  know  that  they  can  never  come  again. 
And  it  will  have  been  your  own  fault,  Denis.  You 
have  sworn  never  to  see  me  again,  and  I  know  it,  and 
I  am  waiting  for  you.  I  am  waiting  to  be  forgiven. 
^'attends." 

He  crushed  the  paper  hard  between  his  fingers.  He 
drew  a  long,  deep  breath ;  his  face  had  altogether  lost 
its  color. 

"  Grand  Dieu  !  qrfelle  etait  belle!'1''  the  young  man 
said. 

The  broken  fountain  trickled  slowly  through  the  still- 


THE  LAWRENCE  FAMILY.  2O/ 

ness,  drop  by  drop,  dripping  down  upon  the  marble 
floor.  It  was  a  silent  afternoon  ;  only,  now  and  then, 
the  fig-trees  rustled  outside  there  in  the  sunlight ;  a 
breath  of  warmer  air  stole  through  the  doorway  into  the 
bare  white-washed  room.  The  cold,  thin  light  crept  in 
at  the  high  window  ;  the  colorless  stillness  seemed  to 
fall  like  a  charm  between  him  and  the  outer  world. 
He  paced  up  and  down  for  a  long  time,  thinking;  turn 
ing  sharply  at  the  corners,  with  knitted  brows  and  a 
slow  and  resolute  step.  One  of  these  turns  brought 
him  near  the  dripping  fountain.  He.  stopped  and 
watched  it  with  a  curious  smile.  The  slow  drops  fell 
one  by  one  into  the  brimming  basin  in  shining  circles 
that  rippled  and  passed  away.  And  the  years  of  his 
life,  as  they  too  passed  in  mute  succession  before  him, 
seemed  hardly  less  purposeless,  less  fatally  purposeless, 
than  these. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

WHICH    CONTAINS    SOME    ACCOUNT    OF     THE     LAWRENCE 
FAMILY. 

MISS  Marie  De  Bray  had  only  been  home  three 
months  from  her  French  convent.  Her  letters 
to  her  five  most  intimate  friends  —  they  wrote  to  each 
other  regularly  twice  a  week,  and  it  was  an  understood 
thing  that  they  were  never  to  forget  one  another  —  her 
letters  to  her  late  companions,  then,  were  still  full  of 
delight  and  wonderment  over  her  own  dear  home,  and 
her  dear  father,  and  her  dear  brothers,  and  the  dear  old 
plantation  life.  This  young  lady,  in  a  word,  was  in  the 
happiest,  the  most  impressionable,  the  most  sentimental 
frame  of  mind  imaginable  —  when  she  met  her  cousin, 
Henry  Lawrence. 

It  was  on  the  occasion  of  that  young  gentleman's  first 


208  MIRAGE. 

visit  to  the  South.  He  had  been  spending  the  Winter 
in  the  neighboring  town  of  Richmond,  and  having 
awoke  one  fine  morning  with  a  racking  headache,  and  a 
very  indistinct  recollection  of  its  cause,  it  had  occurred 
to  him  to  have  his  horse  saddled,  and,  like  a  dutiful 
nephew,  to  ride  over  and  pay  his  respects  to  his  old 
uncle  and  aunt. 

What  he  thought  upon  meeting  his  cousin  Marie  has 
never  transpired.  But  it  was  not  long  before  people 
began  to  remark  upon  the  fact  that  Mr.  Lawrence's 
daily  rides  had  assumed  one  invariable  direction.  His 
face  had  become  familiar  to  every  field-hand  on  the  De 
Bray  plantation.  There  was  a  standing  quarrel  afriong 
the  younger  negroes  as  to  who  should  hold  Mars'  Henry's 
horse.  Indeed,  so  confirmed  a  habit  had  these  visits 
become,  that  when  one  fine  day  he  changed  his  hours 
and  rode  over  early  in  the  morning,  he  found  the  stable- 
yard  deserted  by  all  but  the  smallest  and  blackest  of 
the  grooms.  It  was  a  great  opportunity  for  Zip. 

"  Mars'  Edouard  out  shootin,'  suh,"  he  said  'astutely. 
"  Miss  Marie  gone  down  in  the  garden  for  flowers. 
Specs  Miss  Marie  all  alone  dah,  suh.  Tank  you,  suh," 
catching  the  bit  of  silver  with  a  grin. 

Miss  Marie  was  in  the  garden,  and  alone.  She  was 
picking  winter  roses  when  her  cousin  found  her.  It 
may  be  she  had  expected  his  coming,  for  she  never 
looked  up  at  his  approach,  bending  her  face  down  over 
her  basket  with  cheeks  that  put  to  shame  the  paler 
winter  flowers. 

She  had  run  a  thorn  into  her  hand  ;  she  showed  him 
the  scratch  presently,  looking  up  in  his  face  the  while 
with  innocent,  brown  eyes.  It  was  the  prettiest,  the 
dearest  little  hand  in  the  world,  the  young  man  declared, 
holding  the  trembling  little  fingers  in  his  own,  and  — 

"  Nonsense,  Harry ! "  the  young  girl  says,  turning 
away  with  a  blush,  and  then  —  Well  then,  Mr.  De 
Bray,  senior,  who  was  also  taking  his  *morning  stroll 
about  the  shrubbery,  had  the  opportunity  of  witnessing 
a  very  pretty  scene. 


THE  LAWRENCE  FAMILY.  209 

"Your  mother  wants  you.  I  think  you  had  better  go 
in  for  a  moment  to  your  mother,  Marie,"  he  observed 
some  moments  later,  and  in  precisely  the  same  tone  of 
unvarying  courtesy  his  daughter  had  always  heard  him 
use.  And  then,  when  Marie  had  crept  away,  "  Well, 
sir  !  "  the  planter  said,  grimly,  turning  to  his  nephew. 

Young  Lawrence  was  indisputably  a  Yankee.  His 
home  was  in  New  England.  He  was  known  to  have 
been  somewhat  wild  at  college.  He  was  also  known  to 
have  inherited  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  at  his  father's 
death.  And  for  three  years  back  the  De  Bray  cotton 
crop  had  hardly  paid  the  cost  of  its  transport  to  the 
north. 

"  Well,  sir !  "  the  planter  said. 

It  was  the  finest  wedding  the  De  Bray  family  had 
seen  for  years.  It  was  like  old  times,  the  oldest  negroes 
told  each  other.  And  from  little  Zip  in  the  stable-yard 
to  the  bevy  of  bridesmaids,  come  all  the  way  from  the 
Charleston  convent  to  grace  the  great  event,  through  all 
the  gamut  of  black  and  white  and  yellow,  there  was  not 
a  voice  but  had  some  word  of  praise  for  Henry  Law 
rence.  The  truth  is  he  was  a  very  fascinating  young 
fellow.  When  he  took  his  bride  to  Saratoga  Springs, 
Mr.  Lawrence  was  almost  more  of  a  social  success  than 
his  beautiful  young  wife.  For  one  thing,  he  cared  more 
about  this  sort  of  pleasure  than  she  did.  The  gentle, 
convent-bred  girl  was  more  repelled  than  charmed  by 
this  first  experience  of  the  world.  Her  Southern  educa 
tion  had  never  prepared  her  for  a  life  where  only  the 
women  were  at  leisure.  She  could  not  understand  that 
gentlemen  should  be  in  business.  These  dashing, 
energetic  women  frightened  her.  In  a  word,  she  was 
very  shy,  very  proud,  very  ignorant,  very"  much  in  love 
with  her  husband,  perhaps  a  little  jealous.  And  per 
haps  she  had  sojne  reason  for  this  latter  feeling.  Per 
haps  she  was  rfct  so  far  wrong  when  she  begged  her 
husband  to  take  her  to  their  new  home. 

And  this  in  spite  of  frequent  warnings.  "  Graveport 
14 


310  MIRAGE. 

•is  a  pretty  old  place,  Marie.  I  Ve  lived  there  allTny  fife, 
and  of  course  I  know  every  man,  woman,  and  child  in 
the  village.  But  it 's  different  for  you  ;  you  won't  find  a 
soul  to  speak  to  there,  remember.  But  a  woman  never 
knows  when  she  's  well  off,"  her  husband  said. 

Mrs.  Lawrence  listened  with  perfect  incredulity.  She 
was  in  no  way  apprehensive  about  her  future  neighbors. 
For  had  not  Judge  Poynter,  the  Member  of  Congress, 
the  one  great  man  of  Graveport,  called  upon  her  here 
already  ?  And  had  she  not  spoken  to  that  nice  young 
Mr.  Carter,  who  had  been  so  pleased  to  see  his  old 
friend  Lawrence  the  day  they  met  him  in  New  York  ; 
who  had  told  her  so  much  about  the  Graveport  \fcoods 
and  beaches,  and  had  even  offered,  with  a  blush,  to 
send  her  a  copy  of  his  little  book  of  poems  —  "Transla 
tions  from  the  German,  and  Other  Verses"  —  whose 
forthcoming  publication  was  the  cause  of  his  presence 
in  the  city,  and  thus,  in  a  remote  way,  if  she  would  allow 
him  to  say  so,  had  procured  him  the  honor  and  pleasure 
of  knowing  Mrs.  Lawrence  ? 

Mrs.  Lawrence  accepted  his  compliments  with  per 
fect  gravity  and  respect.  She  could  not  in  the  least 
understand  why  her  husband  should  burst  out  laughing 
in  the  midst  of  them.  This  Mr.  Carter  was  the  first 
living  author  she  had  ever  seen.  She  contemplated  him 
with  simple  admiration.  She  was  pleased  to  think  that 
her  Harry  should  be  on  familiar  terms  with  such  a 
literary  star.  And,  like  every  thing  else,  it  tended  to 
show  what  a  remarkable  man  her  Harry  was. 

But  it  was  not  until  the  early  autumn  that  Mr.  Law 
rence  took  her  home.  A  cool,  salt  wind  was  blowing  in 
from  the  sea  as  they  got  out  at  the  small  country  station 
of  Graveport.  The  yellowing  elms  rustled  their  branches 
in  welcome  against  a  sky  of  deep  and  cloudless  blue. 
The  pale,  golden  leaves  fluttered  down  —  the  droppings 
of  some  unseen  bridal  torch  —  about  the  young  wife's 
path. 

They  had  been  at  home  a  week  when  Lawrence  came 
in  one  morning  and  invited  her  to  accompany  him  upon 


THE  LAWRENCE  FAMILY. 


a  drive.  "  I  'm  going  down  to  the  village,"  the  young 
man  observed  carelessly.  "  There  's  nothing  much  else 
to  do  in  this  confounded,  dreary  old  hole.  If  we  see 
Bill  Carter  I  '11  ask  him  to  dinner,  Marie.  We  're  sure 
enough  to  find  him  too,"  with  a  laugh  he  did  not  trouble 
himself  to  explain. 

Graveport  is  a  typical  New  England  village,  an  old 
seaport  town  grown  too  small  for  its  shell  —  a  town 
with  large,  grass-grown  wharves,  where  the  tides  come 
in  unheeded,  and  the  little  boys  fish  for  flounders,  and 
a  few  old  fishermen  sit  and  gossip  in  the  sun  ;  a  town 
very  proud  of  its  elms,  with  wide  and  ill-kept  roads,  and 
staring  white  houses  with  inviolable  gates  and  blinds. 
And,  as  the  life  of  a  New  England  home  centres  about 
the  kitchen-door,  so,  in  this  village,  it  was  only  about 
the  post-office  and  the  market  that  a  feeble  show  of 
activity  made  itself  felt.  The  linen-drapers  displayed 
their  goods  more  boldly  to  the  public ;  Miss  Rich 
ardson's  bonnet-shop  was  gay  with  autumn  fashions. 
There  was  a  rival  flourish  of  blue  and  crimson  in  the 
colored  globes  at  the  chemist's  window  next  door. 

It  was  in  front  of  this  very  apothecary's  that  Mr. 
Lawrence  checked  his  horses. 

"  I  thought  you  were  going  to  call  on  Mr.  Carter, 
Henry  dear  ? " 

"  Oh,  you  come  along  with  me,"  said  dear  Henry  with 
a  grin. 

The  little  shop  was  empty  when  they  entered  it,  but 
the  drug-room  door  was  left  ajar,  and  a  potent  smell  of 
camphor,  the  subdued  sound  of  pestle  and  mortar,  gave 
evidence*  its  proprietor  was  within.  "  Hollo,  Carter,  are 
you  busy  ?  Can  you  come  out  and  see  my  wife  ?"  said 
Mr.  Lawrence. 

Well,  the  apothecary  came.  He  had  on  a  gray  alpaca 
coat,  the  sleeves  of  which  were  neatly  turned  back  over 
his  cuffs,  and  a  large  white  apron  was  fastened  about 
his  waist;  but  this  latter  he  hastily  removed  before 
shaking  hands  with  his  visitors  across  the  counter.  He 
welcomed  them  to  Graveport.  He  quoted  Tennyson. 


212  MIRAGE. 

He  took  some  flowers  from  a  glass,  and,  wrapping tReir 
stems  carefully  in  a  piece  of  white  paper  with  "  Carter, 
Apothecary,"  stamped  in  colored  letters  across  it,  he 
presented  the  whole  with  a  neat  little  bow  and  speech  to 
his  old  schoolmate's  lady.  "  I  don't  need  to  ask  you  if 
you  want  any  thing  in  our  line  this  morning,  Harry,"  he 
said  ;  but  he  insisted  upon  mixing  some  sal  volatile  for 
Mrs.  Lawrence,  who  indeed  was  sitting  there  speechless 
and  pale  with  mingled  surprise  and  mortification. 

"You've  been  furbishing  up  the  shop,  old  boy,  since 
I  was  here,"  remarked  that  lady's  husband,  seating  him 
self  comfortably  upon  the  counter,  and  looking  about 
him  with  a  knowing  air.  "  Hollo,  French  soap  ?  JVhy, 
Graveport  's  looking  up  in  the  fashionable  world,  Carter.' 
And  when  are  you  coming  to  dine  with  us,  by-the-way  ? 
Mrs.  Lawrence  has  been  dying  to  hear  the  last  news 
about  your  book." 

Mr.  Carter  grew  pink  with  pleasure.  He  stammered* 
something  about  appreciative  souls  ;  he  produced  the 
promised  volume  from  his  desk.  It  was  handsomely 
bound  in  blue  and  gold  ;  it  was  perfumed  with  the  best 
sachet  powder ;  there  was  a  dedicatory  inscription  upon 
the  title-page  ;  and  a  little  girl  coming  in  at  that  mo 
ment  with  a  request  for  a  box  of  rhubarb  pills,  "  which 
father  says  the  last  wasn't  made  strong  enough,  Mr. 
Carter,"  the  poet  absolutely  kept  his  customer  waiting 
while  he  finished  reading  aloud  a  sonnet  about  the 
inner  life. 

And  then  on  their  way  home,  and  for  the  first  time, 
Mr.  Lawrence  found  fault  with  his  wife.  "  For  the 
sooner  you  get  rid  of  all  these  d d  Southern  no 
tions,  why  the  better  it  will  be  for  all  of  us,"  he  remarked 
with  perfect  frankness.  "Bill  Carter  not  a  gentleman  ? 
Well,  he  don't  keep  a  crowd  of  lazy  niggers  to  do  his 
work  for  him,  if  that 's  what  you  mean.  A  man  's  a  man 
in  New  England,"  said  Mr.  Lawrence,  "and  a  gentle 
man  afterwards.  But  you  needn't  have  Carter  at  the 
house  if  you  don't  like.  Hurt  his  feelings  ?  Nonsense  ! 
you  're  always  bothering  about  people's  feelings.  I  wish 


THE  LAWRENCE    FAMILY.  21$ 

you  had  considered  mine  a  little  more  before  you  in 
sisted  upon  coming  here  ;  but  that 's  just  like  a  woman 
—  never  knows  when  she's  well  off.  But  it's  precious 
badly  off  you  '11  find  yourself,  /can  tell  you,  if  you  don't 
learn  that  Graveport  is  not  in  Virginia,  my  dear." 

The  golden  leaves  were  still  falling  along  her  path 
way  as  Mrs.  Lawrence  entered  her  home  that  day 
The  young  wife  stooped  and  picked  a  handful  from  the 
grass  and  looked  at  them  wistfully.  It  may  be  she 
was  remembering  at  that  moment  that  here,  too,  was 
the  sign  of  ended  summer — and  only  the  dead  leaves 
betweetj  her  and  the  drifting  snow. 

And  so,  from  the  very  beginning,  there  was  but  little 
question  of  Mrs.  Lawrence's  unpopularity  with  the  gooc 
people  of  Graveport.  Some  few  infatuated  young  men, 
like  Mr.  William  Carter,  for  instance,  might  put  in  a 
plea  on  account  of  her  beauty.  It  was  easy  to  say  that 
she  was  good  ;  that  she  was  equally  gentle  and  gracious 
to  every  one  about  her ;  that  she  was  devoted  to  her 
husband,  generous  even  to  excess  to  the  poor:  the  fact 
remained  the  same — she  was  not  one  of  them.  Before 
three  months  had  passed  there  was  hardly  an  old  woman 
in  the  village  who  had  not  her  own  particular  anecdote 
to  tell  about  the  new  French  madame  ;  how  Mrs.  Dodge 
had  found  her  breakfasting  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morn 
ing  ;  how  Mason  the  grocer  had  had  to  send  to  Boston 
for  all  the  butter  they  ate  ;  and,  for  all  the  airs  she  gave 
herself,  how  people  had  seen  her  laughing  and  gossiping 
by  the  hour  with  that  negro  maid  !  And  I  am  afraid 
that  it  must  be  admitted  that  Marie  herself  did  little  or 
nothing  to  check  the  tide  of  all  this  popular  wrath.  The 
truth  is  she  refused  their  invitations  ;  she  would  not  go 
to  their  tea-drinkings,  after  the  first ;  she  laughed  at 
the  Lyceum  lectures.  "  I  am  afraid  there  has  been 
some  mistake.  I  can  assure  you  I  have  never  thought 
of  being  a  governess,"  she  said,  with  her  most  superb 
air  to  Miss  Lucy  Carter,  when  that  young  lady  called 
upon  her  to  suggest  a  class  in  French.  "  As  mother 
thought  you  might  not  have  much  to  do  with  your  time, 


214  MIRAGE. 

Mrs.  Lawrence,  since  Henry  is  away  so  mucPf'-frbm 
home,"  Miss  Carter  had  added  with  a  toss  of  her  head. 
Miss  Carter  had  been  the  belle  of  Graveport  in  her  day, 
and  it  may  be  this  allusion  to  her  husband  was  not  es 
pecially  satisfactory  to  Mrs.  Lawrence. 

Perhaps,  all  things  considered,  it  was  hardly  to  be 
wondered  at  that,  long  before  the  pale  New  England 
spring,  the  Lawrences  had  drifted  back  to  the  city.  It 
was  the  last  that  Graveport  saw  of  them  for  many  and 
many  a  day.  It  is  true  that  from  time  to  time  vague 
rumors  would  reach  there  of  the  fugitives  :  one  year  it 
was  Mr.  Carter  who  met  them  in  New  York,  whether  he 
had  taken  his  wife  upon  a  bridal  tour;  again  it  wag  old 
Miss  Richardson,  going  up  to  Boston  for  her  yearly' 
collection  of  new  fashions,  who  had  chanced  upon  Marie 
face  to  face,  "  and  looking  not  a  day  older,  my  dear,  and 
her  with  all  those  little  children  ; "  and  yet  again  the 
reports  were  of  another  character,  and  people  shook 
their  heads  with  melancholy  satisfaction  over  the  tales 
of  young  Lawrence's  wild  doings.  "  Poor  Henry !  he 
was  always  weak.  But  then,  what  could  you  expect  with 
such  a  wife  ? "  as  Miss  Carter  pertinently  inquired. 
And  then  came  the  rumor  that  they  had  gone  to  Europe. 
And  then,  quite  suddenly,  the  news  that  Mr.  Lawrence 
was  dead. 

And  almost  before  the  excitement  caused  by  this  re 
port  had  died  away,  one  fine  October  morning  a  carriage 
stopped  before  the  Lawrences'  door.  The  unused  gate 
creaked  heavily  as  it  turned  upon  its  hinges ;  the  lawn 
was  strewn  with  withered  leaves  from  the  old  elms  over 
head.  As  Miss  Richardson  hurried  to  her  parlor  win 
dow,  she  could  see  a  black-clad  figure  pass  through  the 
brilliant  sunshine  among  the  dying  leaves.  The  chil 
dren  were  delighted  with  this  rustling  carpet;  they 
crowded  about  her ;  they  pulled  at  her  dress  ;  "  but 
she  didn't  seem  to  take  no  notice  nor  nothing,"  Miss 
Richardson  commented.  And  Graveport  knew  the 
widow  had  come  home. 

Little  Denis  was  a  pretty  boy  of  eight  or  nine,  his 


THE  LAWRENCE  FAMILY.  21$ 

sisters  —  "the  children,"  as  the  boy  called  them  con 
temptuously —  were  still  in  the  nursery,  under  old  black 
Jenny's  rule,  at  the  time  of  this  event ;  and  it  was  per 
haps  but  natural  that,  as  the  years  went  on,  and  they 
grew  older,  a  thousand  new  ties  and  associations  should 
spring  up  between  them  and  the  people  of  the  village  — 
ties  and  associations  their  mother  could  never  under 
stand.  Indeed,  to  her  dying  day,  this  lady  remained  a 
stranger  to  the  place.  And,  for  that  matter,  her  whole 
life  was  centred  in  her  children  :  when  she  addressed  her 
neighbors  on  any  other  subject  it  was  with  the  air  of  a 
dethroned  princess  addressing  her  inferiors.  Since  her 
husband's  death  she  had  become  more  French  than 
ever.  She  surrounded  herself  with  negro  servants.  At 
an  age  and  in  a  community  where  a  woman  of  thirty  is 
a  faded,  shattered,  indomitable  machine,  she  dressed 
herself  in  delicate  and  flowing  robes  of  white,  and  knots 
of  blue,  and  ruffles  of  lace  about  her  beautiful,  helpless 
hands.  In  a  land  of  sectarian  prejudice,  she  was  seen 
by  credible  witnesses  drinking  coffee  on  her  lawn  at 
four  o'clock  on  a  Sunday  afternoon,  in  company  with 
several  strangers,  and  one  of  these  a  Roman  Catholic 
priest.  "  Settin'  about  a  table  on  the  grass  like  a  lot  o' 
Crazy  Janes  without  house  nor  home,  and  her  a  widder 
woman,  on  the  Sabbath  !  It's  what  I  call  a  flyin'  in  the 
face  of  Providence,"  said  Deacon  Davis  grimly. 

But  perhaps  the  two  worst  counts  against  the  innocent 
sinner  were,  first,  her  attendance  at  the  Catholic  church,  — 
a  small,  stucco  chapel  erected  for  the  convenience  of  the 
Irish  mill-hands,  where  Mrs.  Lawrence  sat  every  Sun 
day  morning,  looking  serenely  beautiful  and  unconscious 
of  her  surroundings  ;  and  then  the  fact  that  —  she  rode. 
For  in  that  land  of  invalid  women  and  knock-kneed 
horses  (harnessed  on  Sunday  afternoons  when  the  family 
"carry-all  "  was  needed  to  take  the  family  to  church),  it 
was  Mrs.  Lawrence's  practice  to  ride  ;  and  the  fishermen 
by  the  shore,  the  few  woodcutters  amongst  the  pines,  had 
long  since  grown  accustomed  to  the  sound  of  muffled 
hoof  beats.  The  children  had  learned  to  watch  for  their 


2l6  MIRAGE. 

coming,  crowding  to  the  window  to  see  the  genufcj*  sad- 
faced  lady  canter  by,  and  wonder  at  her  boy. 

"  I  met  'em  again  this  aternoon.  The  Jedge  was  with 
'em,"  Mr.  Jones  would  remark  at  dinner  —  Mr.  Jones,  a 
scrupulously  accurate  man,  who  had  been  known  to  add 
a  date-stone  to  a  pound  of  dates  rather  than  give  a  cus 
tomer  short  measure.  "  I  met  'em  —  trapesing  about,  as 
usual.  The  French  madame  had  her  lap  full  o'  weeds, 
and  the  boy  was  a  sticking  a  lot  o'  them  purple  asters  in 
her  hat.  They  seed  me  a-comin',  and  the  madame,  she 
asked  ater  you,  Mariar,"  with  a  side-glance  at  the  sickly 
woman  bending  above  the  stove. 

"Where  was  it,  father?"  asks  the  eldest  girl. 

"  By  them  Folly  Woods  ;  near  the  crossroad.  She  was 
askin'  her  way  to  —  " 

"  I  know  the  place.  Do  tell !  So  she  was  there,  was 
she  ?  I  used  to  go  there  to  pull  May-blooms  when  I  was 
a  girl.  I  hain't  seen  those  woods  these  fifteen  years  or 
more,"  says  Mariar,  turning  around  to  hush  the  crying 
baby  in  its  chair.  "  Mary  Jones,  if  you  don't  let  that 
little  brother  o'  yours  alone  —  !  and  George,  keep  your 
fingers  out  o'  that  molasses,  sir.  You  had  a  genteel  suf 
ficiency  an  hour  ago.  What  was  she  goin'  after,  father  ? 
Did  she  say  ? " 

"  After  more  weeds,  I  reckon.  The  way  that  woman 
litters  up  that  house  o'  hern  do  beat  the  Dutch.  Kiting 
across  the  country  like  a  white  pine-dog  with  a  popple 
tail ;  and  the  Jedge  with  'em  too  —  a  man  o'  his  sense, 
and  a  professor  of  religion  !  I  'd  admire  to  know  what 
that,  boy  of  hers  can  come  to,  seein'  such  goin's  on," 
said  Mr.  Jones. 

And  Mr.  Jones's  was  not  the  only  speculation  on 
this  topic.  For  it  was  about  this  time,  I  think,  that  a 
certain  interview  took  place. 

Mrs.  Lawrence  had  stayed  at  home  that  day.  It  was 
a  still,  warm,  beautiful  September  afternoon.  She  was 
pacing  up  and  down  the  garden-walk ;  the  train  of  her 
white  dress  brushed  against  a  glowing  border  of  brilliant 
autumn  flowers  ;  the  yellowing  leaves  were  floating  down 


THE  LAWRENCE  FAMILY.  21 7 

in  the  same  old  fashion  from  the  frost-touched  elms  ; 
the  mild  autumnal  sunshine  resting  upon  her  flushed 
and  pensive  face  —  a  fair  and  gracious  and  singularly 
youthful  face  it  seemed  in  the  eyes  of  the  man  who 
saw  it. 

"  For  you  know,  dear  Mrs.  Lawrence,  it  is  impossible," 
Judge  Poynter  was  saying,  in  a  voice  which  I  doubt  if 
any  one  but  this  woman  beside  him  would  ever  have 
recognized  as  his;  "quite  impossible.  Your  boy  will 
grow  up  —  how  old  is  he  now?  fifteen?  sixteen?  —  in 
five  years'  time  he  will  be  a  young  man,  with  a  life  apart 
from  yours,  and  you  a  young  woman  still." 

"  I  was  six-and-thirty  on  my  last  birth-day,"  said  Mrs. 
Lawrence. 

"  A  young  woman  still ;  a  charming  woman  always. 
And  to  think  of  your  throwing  yourself  away  upon  these 
people  here  !  It  is  a  shame,  Mary  —  a  waste,  a  criminal 
waste  of  faculties  that  were  given  you  to  be  an  orna 
ment —  yes,  and  an  honor  —  to  any  society  you  deigned 
to  enter,  by  Jove!"  with  a  sudden  relapse  into. the  Ed 
ward  Poynter  of  twenty  years  ago.  "  And  as  for  this  boy, 
he  's  a  fine  little  fellow,  and  a  brave  little  fellow,  and 
we  '11  make  an  honest  gentleman  of  him  —  a  man  you 
will  be  proud  of,  Mary.  For  the  boy's  own  sake  I  think 
you  should  say  'Yes,'  my  dear,"  said  the  Judge. 

I  think  she  came  very  near  saying  it.  She  looked  up 
at  the  handsome,  stalwart,  gray-haired  man  beside  her. 
I  think  that  she  realized  that  here  was  a  name  and  a 
position  any  woman  might  be  proud  to  accept ;  and  I 
think  that  for  a  moment  she  wavered.  I  am  sure  that 
after  he  had  left  her  —  after  she  had  watched  him  turn 
away  sorrowful,  incredulous,  protesting  —  I  am  sure,  I 
say,  that  she  looked  up  at  the  serene  beauty  of  the  sky 
above  her,  that  she  looked  around  at  the  blazing  garden- 
borders  with  quite  a  new  sense  of  narrowness  and  loss. 
Perhaps  it  was  only  the  natural  regret  of  having  wounded 
a  friend ;  perhaps  some  old  thirst  for  a  wider  life,  some 
forgotten  but  living  capacity  for  enjoyment,  for  the  plea 
sant  excitement  of  admiration  —  the  gracious  privilege 


218  MIRAGE. 

of  giving  pleasure  —  had  been  awakened  by  his  w"ords. 
There  was  an  unusual  flush  on  the  widow's  delicate 
cheek,  an  almost  girlish  embarrassment  in  her  manner 
as  she  went  forward  to  greet  her  son  returning  home 
from  school. 

"  I  'm  late  and  I  know  it,  and  I  couldn't  help  it," 
that  young  gentleman  remarked  cheerfully,  vaulting  over 
the  garden-gate  with  a  dexterous  toss  of  his  books  at  the 
grinning  Jenny's  head;  "I  stayed  to  see  Ned  Mason's 
boat,  and  she  is  a  beauty !  Ned  's  going  to  sea  before 
long,  mother.  He  can't  stand  it  at  home  since  Mrs, 
Mason  's  married  again.  Some  people  think  it 's  queer 
of  Ned  to  take  it  in  that  fashion  ;  but  /don't  woncley  at 
it,  you  know,"  said  Master  Denis,  sagely.  And  to  his 
dying  clay  Denis  Lawrence  never  guessed  why  his  mother 
threw  her  arms  about  his  neck  and  kissed  him  at  that 
particular  moment. 

It  was  about  this  same  time  young  Lawrence  made  up 
his  mind  to  become  a  painter.  Of  course  the  lad  had 
always  had  a  taste  for  drawing.  There  was  portfolio 
after  portfolio  full  of  sketches  with  "  Denis  Lawrence, 
fecit,"  in  the  corner,  carefully  stored  away  among  his 
mother's  treasures.  But  when  he  was  about  nineteen, 
it  so  happened  the  boy  spent  a  winter  in  New  York. 
It  was  there  that  for  the  first  time  he  saw  the  interior  of 
an  artist's  studio ;  it  was  there  he  abandoned  all  idea  of 
college ;  and  it  was  then  and  there  he  decided  to  study 
abroad. 

At  first  Mrs.  Lawrence  would  not  hear  of  his  going  to 
Europe.  The  very  thought  of  his  departure  distracted 
her  with  grief.  She  implored  him  not  to  leave  her.  She 
wrote  letter  after  letter  to  her  brother  at  home,  entreat 
ing  him,  adjuring  him,  by  his  responsibility  as  a  guardian, 
not  to  sanction  her  boy's  departure.  And  in  the  midst 
of  all  this  agitation,  and  quite  unexpectedly,  Mr.  Ed- 
ouard  De  Bray  came  north. 

He  arrived  at  Graveport  one  wintry  evening,  wrapped 
up  to  his  eyes  in  fur  pelisses,  and  swearing  violently  and 
indiscriminately  at  the  Yankees  and  their  climate ;  and 


THE  LAWRENCE  FAMILY.  219 

before  twenty-four  hours  were  over,  and  to  the  lad's  in 
tense  surprise,  the  plans  were  entirely  settled  for  Denis's 
sojourn  in  Paris. 

His  surprise  might  have  been  lessened  perhaps,  had 
he  known  then  what  he  only  heard  years  afterwards  — 
the  purport  of  an  interview  which  took  place  between 
his  mother  and  his  guardian  the  very  night  of  the  lat- 
ter's  arrival. 

"  Ma  sceur,  I  have  something  to  tell  you,"  said  Mr. 
De  Bray.  He  went  to  the  door  and  locked  it  noiselessly. 
"•Are  your  children,  are  your  servants,  all  in  bed?"  he 
asked.  He  took  the  widow  by  the  hand,  he  led  her 
gravely  to  the  fire,  and,  stooping  down  before  it,  he 
whispered  in  her  ear. 

She  started  back  with  a  low  cry  of  terror. 

"  Hush  !  some  one  may  hear  you,"  the  Virginian  said 
again,  and  with  the  same  strange  solemnity  of  manner. 

The  short,  gray-haired  man  standing  before  that  fire, 
biting  his  nails  and  staring  at  the  logs,  had  some  of  the 
authority  of  a  martyr  about  him  at  that  moment. 

"It  may  take  —  all,"  he  said  slowly,  stretching  out 
his  hand.  "  Virginia  will  need  all,  my  sister,"  with  up 
lifted  head,  and  the  passion  of  a  lifetime  flashing  suddenly 
into  the  heavy  face. 

They  settled  about  the  boy's  departure  :  he  was  to 
remain  away  a  year. 

"  And  you  '11  remember,  my  boy,  you  have  given  me 
your  word  —  your  word  of  honor  as  a  De  Bray — that 
you  won't  come  home  before  that  year  expires,"  his  uncle 
reminded  him  with  peculiar  significance. 

The  lad  looked  up  curiously  from  his  imperturbable 
guardian  to  his  mother's  wan  and  tear-stained  face. 

"  All  right,  sir  !  Not  unless  my  mother  sends  for  me," 
he  said  stoutly. 

There  was  only  a  week  before  his  vessel  sailed,  and 
yet,  in  the  midst  of  all  his  wild  excitement,  the  boy  found 
time  to  wonder  whatever  that  promise  might  mean. 

He  found  out  soon  enough.  He  had  not  been  three 
months  in  Paris  when  the  catastrophe  came.  The  flag 


220  MIRAGE. 

was  fired  on  at  Fort  Sumter,  and  for  awhile  the  laS"w"as 
half  mad  with  rage  and  revolt. 

"Our  cousins,  the  other  De  Brays,  have  come  back 
from  the  country.  My  cousin,  the  Vicomte,  has  married 
a  wife  young  enough  to  be  his  daughter.  She  is  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  women  in  Paris,"  he  wrote  to  his 
mother  on  one  occasion.  "  They  want  me  to  paint  her 
portrait ;  they  ask  me  continually  to  go  and  see  them  ; 
and  have  you  not  made  it  impossible  ?  Shall  I  go  to 
her  house  and  let  her  think  me  a  coward  ?  Or  would  you 
have  me  tell  her  how  my  own  mother  has  cheated  'me 
like  a  child?" 

It  was  the  first  serious  breach  between  the  mother  and 
her  son,  and  for  a  time  it  was  difficult  to  say  which  suf 
fered  from  it  the  most. 

"  You  tell  me  I  am  a  De  Bray.  I  answer  you  I  am 
an  American,"  the  young  man  wrote  at  last,  in  answer 
to  one  of  the  widow's  piteous  letters.  "  And  you  would 
have  me  stay  here  like  a  miserable  sham,  you  would  have 
me  skulk  like  a  girl  out  of  reach  of  danger,  when  there 
isn't  blood  enough  left  in  America  to  wipe  out  the  insult 
to  our  flag.  My  uncle  may  fight  where  he  chooses  ;  my 
place  is  at  the  North.  I  am  coming  to  take  it.  I  am 
coming  home,  mother.  Three  months  from  to-day  the 
year  I  promised  you  is  ended.  I  shall  stay  here  three 
months  from  to-day. " 

He  stayed  three  years.  At  last,  one  bleak  December 
night,  deep  in  the  frozen  heart  of  the  New  England 
winter,  and  when  all  the  elms  stood  white  and  rigid 
beneath  a  three-days' fall  of  snow,  at  last  Denis  Law 
rence  came  home.  He  came  home  a  man,  and  it  was 
with  an  indescribable  pang  of  jealous  sorrow  the  widow 
realized  the  fact ;  her  boy  was  a  boy  no  more. 

She  went  in  to  see  him  that  first  night,  creeping 
stealthily  to  the  door  of  his  room  when  all  the  house 


THE  LAWRENCE  FAMILY.  221 

was  hushed  and  silent.  It  was  long  after  midnight,  but 
a  light  was  burning  on  his  table  as  she  entered,  and 
Denis  was  seated  before  it,  his  face  haggard  and  wan, 
and  buried  in  his  hands. 

He  started  and  looked  up  at  the  sound  of  her  gentle 
entrance.  "  Is  that  you,  mother?"  he  said  wildly.  He 
clutched  a  portrait,  some  papers  lying  before  him,  and 
thrust  them  hastily  aside. 

"  Why  don't  you  go  to  sleep,  my  darling  ?  "  the  mother 
asked,  in  the  old,  tender,  well-remembered  voice.  She 
laid  her  hand  upon  her  boy's  forehead  and  smoothed 
back  his  tumbled  hair.  "  Why  don't  you  go  to  sleep, 
my  boy  ? "  she  said  trembling. 

And  Denis  took  his  mother's  hand  in  his  and  kissed 
it.  There  was  but  little  need  of  explanation  between 
those  two. 

The  days  went  on  and  on.  In  spite  of  his  mother's 
guest,  Miss  Poynter,  it  was  but  a  dull  house  now,  this 
home  to  which  young  Lawrence  had  returned  ;  a  poverty- 
stricken  house,  the  young  man  thought  with  bitter  mor 
tification,  remembering  the  life  he  had  led  in  the  years 
he  had  been  away. 

He  chafed  with  inexpressible  impatience  at  the  thought 
of  his  own  helplessness.  There  was  no  more  talk  of  his 
going  to  the  war  now ;  indeed,  in  those  first  days,  the 
widow  would  hardly  bear  him  out  of  her  sight ;  and 
Denis  saw  with  alarm  the  change  those  few  years  had 
made  in  her  appearance.  He  spoke  of  it  repeatedly  to 
Miss  Poynter  ;  and  there  was  but  little  to  comfort  him 
in  the  young  girl's  report. 

"  She  is  a  good  girl,"  the  widow  said,  speaking  of 
Charlotte  in  one  of  her  many  conversations  with  her 
son,  "  a  good  girl  ;  she  has  been  a  kind  little  companion 
to  me  this  summer.  I  missed  your  sisters  sadly  when 
they  went  away,  Denis." 

"  My  sisters  had  no  right  to  leave  you,"  the  young 
man  said. 

"  It  is  a  dull  house,  my  dear,"  said  the  widow,  with 
her  melancholy  smile ;  "  and  Mrs.  Poynter  was  very 


222  MIRAGE. 

™^.          <r- 

kind  in  inviting  them ;  and  the  poor  children  needed 
society.  They  were  glad  to  go.  And  yet  I  have  done 
what  I  could  for  my  children,"  said  Mrs.  Lawrence. 

Another  time  she  told  him  about  the  money  that  had 
been  lost.  "  As  for  all  the  De  Bray  fortune,  it  has  gone 
—  it  has  gone  for  a  good  cause,"  she  said,  her  cheeks 
flushing  painfully. 

And  then,  presently,  as  Charlotte  Poynter  got  up  and 
left  the  room,  u  She  is  a  good  girl,"  the  widow  repeated, 
looking  after  her  affectionately.  "  She  will  be  very 
wealthy,  Denis,"  she  added  timidly,  after  a  moment, 
"she  will  be  wealthy,  Denis  ;  and  you — oh,  my  darlhig, 
if  you  knew  how  I  have  thought  of  you  !  " 

"  It  was  impossible,"  the  young  man  said  impatiently, 
"impossible."  The  very  suggestion  was  irksome  to 
him.  "  I  have  done  with  —  Miss  Poynter's  fortune 
is  nothing  to  me,"  he  said.  He  frowned  as  he  turned 
away. 

It  was  a  dull  winter  certainly.  The  weeks  seemed  to 
stretch  out  to  twice  their  normal  length  ;  the  weary 
battle  months  rolled  by  with  hardly  a  break  in  all  their 
blood-stained  monotony.  It  seemed  to  Denis  sometimes 
that  they  were  buried  alive  ;  he  chafed  against  his  captiv 
ity  in  bitter  silence,  carrying  the  newspapers  to  his  own 
room  and  devouring  their  contents  with  eager,  humil 
iated  eyes.  He  paid  very  little  attention  to  the  women 
of  his  household  on  those  days,  and  perhaps  it  was  only 
natural  that  they  should  redouble  in  their  efforts  to 
please  him.  It  was  no  easy  matter  at  -times,  but  little 
Charlotte  persevered  bravely.  They  had  talked  of 
Lawrence's  coming  for  months  before  his  arrival,  and  I 
have  small  doubt  but  the  mother  had  made  a  hero  of 
her  boy. 

One  afternoon  he  was  sitting  with  Miss  Poynter  in 
the  studio.  For  some  weeks  past  he  had  been  engaged 
in  making  a  study  for  a  picture,  a  little  bit  of  genre —  a 
girl's  head,  an  open  window,  and,  beyond,  a  stretch  of 
wintry  sky.  As  chance  would  have  it,  he  was  that  day 
in  a  particularly  happy  mood.  Miss  Poynter  was  m 


THE  LAWRENCE  FAMILY.  223 

excellent  sitter.  He  was  trying  a  new  process  of  his 
own,  and  the  picture  promised  to  be  a  success. 

"  I  think,  by  Jove !  I  think  I  've  got  it  this  time,  and 
no  mistake,"  he  said,  with  quite  a  new  satisfaction  in 
his  voice.  He  looked  over  to  Charlotte  for  sympathy. 

Miss  Poynter  was  sitting  by  the  window,  crying. 

She  had  had  a  letter  from  her  cousin  Edward  that 
morning.  "He  is  coming  —  he  is  coming  to  take  me 
away,"  the  girl  ended  with  a  sob. 

If  Denis  hesitated,  it  was  only  for  a  moment.  He 
laid  down  his  palette  and  brushes  deliberately ;  he 
crossed  over  to  the  little  shrinking  figure  beside  the 
window;  put  his  arm  about  her  waist.  "Shall  —  shall 
I  tell  Judge  Poynter  you  would  rather  stay  here  with 
me,  Charlotte?"  said  Mr.  Lawrence. 

It  was  not  a  rapturous  wooing.  There  was  still  light 
enough  in  the  short  winter  afternoon  to  finish  the  picture 
after  every  thing  else  was  settled.  And  Denis  went 
back  to  his  work.  It  was  his  first  decidedly  successful 
picture.  "  A  charming  bit  of  sentiment  and  color,"  the 
critics  called  it.  It  was  bought  by  Goupl  in  the  course 
of  the  following  summer.  He  sold  it  very  well.  "  As 
though  there  was  any  use  in  that,  while  there  is  all  my 
money  lying  idle,  and  you  will  not  even  take  me  where 
I  could  spend  it,"  Mrs.  Charlotte  observed  disdainfully. 
They  had  been  married  over  six  months,  and  this  was 
not  the  first  remark  of  the  kind  which  young  Mrs.  Law 
rence  had  made.  It  had  been  a  singularly  unsuccessful 
marriage  from  the  first.  And  this  not  because  Char 
lotte  was  a  badly-intentioned  or  even  a  bad-tempered 
woman.  She  would  have  made  a  happy  wife  to  some 
other  man,  Lawrence  would  think  at  times.  And  then 
very  likely  he  asked  himself  how  it  was  that  this  poor 
little  girl,  with  her  exacting  and  unsympathetic  nature, 
her  cramped  intensity  of  aim,  should  be  doomed  to  this 
blind  struggle  with  all  the  perplexities,  the  baffling  dis 
appointments,  of  such  a  life  as  his?  It  was  not  an  easy 
question  to  answer.  "  For,  after  all,  I  am  exactly  the 
same,  my  poor  little  Charlotte  !  I  am  exactly  what  I  was 


224  MIRAGE. 

when  you  wished  —  when  you  consented  to 
he  said  to  her  one  day  ;  "  I  have  not  changed." 

"  Changed  ?  No.  But  1  thought  you  would,"  said 
Charlotte  naively.  And  perhaps  in  those  few  words  she 
had  unconsciously  summed  up  half  of  "  the  old  woe  o' 
the  world." 

It  was  at  the  end  of  one  of  their  reiterated  discus 
sions  upon  the  old,  old  subject  —  her  desire  to  live  in 
Paris.  Paris  !  Like  the  recollection  of  some  anterior 
existence,  the  name  came  back  to  Lawrence  with  all  its 
old,  luring  suggestion  of  passionate  delight.  He  shivered 
and  closed  his  eyes.  The  face  was  there  still  —  the-old 
beautiful  face.  He  stood  up  abruptly.  "  You  cannot 
go.  I  have  to  content  myself  with  home,"  with  sudden 
faltering  in  the  well-trained  voice. 

His  wife  sat  working  by  the  window,  some  elaborate 
mechanical  work  which  somehow  seemed  a  part  of  her. 
She  looked  up  now,  glancing  at  him  with  helpless  irrita 
tion,  with  pale,  persistent  eyes. 

"  There  was  nothing  to  lose  one's  temper  about,"  she 
said  presently.  "  Goodness  knows  I  don't  expect  you 
to  agree  with  me,  Denis.  I  wish  you  would  sit  down 
and  take  a  book,  or  act  like  anybody  else.  You  make 
my  head  ache  walking  up  and  down,"  pressing  one  thin 
white  hand  against  her  temples ;  and,  after  a  moment's 
silence :  "  I  am  not  going  down  to  Graveport  again,  I 
suppose  you  know  that,  Denis  ?  I  am  tired  of  the 
country ;  I  hate  it.  And  you  must  stay  where  I  do  this 
summer,  do  you  hear?  People  are  talking  about  you 
already,"  with  fretful  insistence,  —  "people  are  talking 
about  the  way  you  neglect  me  for  your  mother,  and  we 
have  not  been  married  a  year." 

And  this  was  to  go  on  all  his  life.  He  stood  with  his 
back  turned  upon  her,  looking  through  the  gathering 
darkness  at  the  stretch  of  empty  road.  He  had  sold 
his  liberty  for  this.  And  other  men,  other  men  —  his 
face  changing  suddenly  —  they  were  at  the  South  those 
others,  fighting,  themselves  a  part  of  all  the  grandeur, 
the  splendor,  and  stress  of  a  heroic  cause  ;  while  he  — 


THE  LAWRENCE  FAMILY.  22$ 

the  thin,  complaining  voice  jarred  on  his  nerves  with 
cruel  iteration  —  it  was  his  part,  he  had  chosen  it,  his 
part  of  all  the  possibilities  of  life. 

He  stood  there  a  long  time ;  there  were  two  paths 
opening  out  in  life  before  him  ;  he  stood  there  until  he 
had  made  his  choice.  If  there  was  temptation  left  in 
the  old  dreams,  he  forswore  it  that  night  ;  he  thrust  it 
from  him.  The  life  before  him  might  be  barren,  but, 
come  what  might,  he  could  live  it  like  a  man. 

He  looked  up  quietly.  With  a  sudden  revulsion  of 
feeling  he  stooped  and  took  his  wife's  hand  in  his.  "  I 
wish  I  could  please  you  better,  Charlotte,"  he  said. 

She  was  counting  the  stitches  in  her  work  ;  she  glanced 
up,  her  lips  still  moving. 

"  Don't,"  she  said  petulantly,  and  moved  away  her 
shoulder. 

It  was  a  little  thing,  but  it  hurt  him  afterwards  to 
remember  it,  for  it  was  almost  the  last  word  they  ever 
exchanged  together. 

Before  nightfall  Lawrence  was  speeding  eastward  in 
answer  to  an  urgent  telegram.  It  was  not  even  his 
mother  who  had  sent  it,  and  with  a  terrible  sinking  of 
the  heart  he  hastened  on  his  journey,  the  slow  night 
dragging  on  before  him,  and  she,  it  might  be,  drifting 
beyond  his  reach. 

It  was  an  hour  or  two  before  morning  when  he  reached 
Graveport.  A  foggy,  summer  night,  "white  with  the 
whiteness  of  what  is  dead"  —  a  night  of  ghastly  silence, 
through  which  you  rather  felt  than  heard  the  low  grind 
of  the  distant  waves  upon  the  beach.  He  reached  the 
house,  his  footsteps  echoing  loudly  down  all  the  wet  and 
silent  street.  He  went  in.  The  door  had  been  left 
open  ;  a  light  was  flaring  in  the  draught.  There  were 
voices  and  people  in  the  hall  ;  he  passed  them  all  un 
heeded,  with  rigid  face,  with  slow  and  heavy  footsteps  — 
he  was  going  to  his  mother.  It  was  old  Jenny  who 
opened  the  door  to  him.  There  was  a  smell  of  incense 
in  the  room.  He  saw  a  white  bed,  some  people  stand 
ing  about  it. 

»S 


226  MIRAGE. 

"Tears  like  as  if  she  had  been  waitin'  for  you,ltfars' 
Denis,"  the  old  woman  said,  her  black  face  twitching 
convulsively  ;  "  waitin'  for  the  turn  o'  the  tide." 

He  went  up  to  the  bed.  She  was  lying  there  very 
quietly,  but  she  opened  her  eyes  and  looked  at  him  as 
he  bent  over  her.  Her  lips  moved  painfully  :  — 

"  Charlotte  ?  " 

He  took  her  hand  in  his. 

"  Yes,  dear,  yes.  We  are  very  happy  together,"  he 
said  soothingly. 

A  light  of  sudden  joy  filled  all  the  dying  woman's 
face. 

"  My  boy !  "  she  said.  She  gathered  up  her  strength 
in  one  supreme  effort,  and  turned  and  laid  her  lips 
against  his  hand. 

The  man  in  black  rose  from  his  knees  and  made  the 
sign  of  the  cross  devoutly. 

"  The  Blessed  Virgin  give  you  strength  to  bear  your 
loss,  my  son,"  he  said  ;  and  Denis  looked  at  him  stupidly. 

"  She  is  gone.  Gone  !  "  with  a  pitiful,  incredulous 
smile. 

Old  Jenny  had  dragged  herself  moaning  to  the  win 
dow  ;  she  threw  it  wide  open  now  with  the  dumb,  word 
less  superstition  of  her  race.  The  wind  had  risen  ;  the 
night  air  rushed  in  clammy  and  chill.  The  harassed 
trees  creaked  painfully  through  the  silence,  their  dark 
arms  tossing  wildly  against  the  paling  sky.  Already 
the  swift  summer  night  was  ended  ;  already  the  light 
was  breaking  over  the  storm-vexed  waves  ;  the  morning 
tide  was  ebbing  to  the  sea. 

And  presently  came  morning  —  the  cheerful  common 
day,  filling  the  world  with  pleasant  stir  and  sound  ;  and 
later  on  Judge  Poynter  had  arrived,  coming  back  from 
the  dead  woman's  room  with  a  face  which  moved  even 
Denis  to  faint  companionship  of  sorrow.  It  was  the 
first  thing  that  had  roused  him  ;  and  now,  towards  even 
ing,  he  began  to  write  letters.  There  were  despatches 
to  be  sent;  his  sisters  to  be  summoned.  His  wife  — 

All  day  he  had   been    conscious   of   people   moving 


THE  LAWRENCE  FAMILY.  22/ 

about  him  ;  moving  with  decent  and  kindly  pretence  of 
sorrow,  with  lowered  and  respectful  voices,  and  muffled 
footsteps  that  seemed  to  jar  slowly,  one  by  on'e,  upon 
his  brain. 

Now,  as  he  paused  to  listen,  it  seemed  to  him  that 
these  footsteps  moved  more  hastily  ;  there  were  people 
crowding  before  the  house.  Well,  it  was  nothing  to 
him  ;  and  there  was  still  his  wife  to  write  to.  His 
wife ! 

The  door  opened  and  let  pass  two  men ;  one  of  them 
was.  Judge  Poynter.  "It  was  kind  of  him  to  come 
again,  very  kind,"  Lawrence  said,  getting  up  mechani 
cally,  and  facing  him,  his  hand  grasping  the  back  of  a 
chair.  He  had  been  writing  to  Charlotte  — 

The  Judge  looked  at  his  companion.  "Tell  him," 
he  said  hoarsely  ;  he  threw  himself  clown  in  a  chair  and 
covered  his  face.  Denis  watched  him  curiously,  he 
stood  there  watching  him  through  all  the  broken  story 
which  followed,  and  by  a  sort  of  double  consciousness, 
taking  it  all  in  the  while  with  ghastly  clearness  of  de 
tail  —  Charlotte's  impatience  at  his  sudden  journey, 
her  jealous  following.  "  She  was  always  difficult  to 
manage,  poor  girl,  poor  girl,"  the  Judge  broke  in  with 
a  sob  —  and  then  the  crowded  transport  train  —  a 
broken  rail — an  accident. 

"It  was  the  will  of  God,  my  son,"  the  priest  said 
solemnly  ;  and  Denis  turned  and  looked  at  him.  The 
will  of  God  !  and  this  man,  this  good-hearted  Irishman 
with  his  coarse  red  hands  knew  all  about  it  ?  The  will 
of  God? — repeating  the  words  after  him  with  patient 
effort  to  understand  —  the  will  of  God?  and  poor,  futile, 
little  Charlotte  dead ! 

"  My  poor  boy,"  the  Judge  said,  wringing  his  hand, 
"my  dear  boy,  if  you  could  only  make  an  effort  —  rouse 
yourself."  There  was  something  in  the  patience  of  the 
young  face  that  turned  and  looked  upon  him  which 
struck  the  old  man  dumb. 

And  after  they  had  left  him  —  the  Judge  coming  back 
from  the  door  again  to  ask  what  he  could  do  —  when 


228  MIRAGE. 

they  had  left  him  alone  it  was  still  this  same  shocked 
sense  of  the  incongruous  which  would  keep  uppermost. 
His  mother  —  his  mother  was  a  saint,  the  tears  coming 
slow  and  burning  to  his  eyes ;  but  Charlotte,  poor  little 
Charlotte,  crushed  out  of  life,  alone,  the  familiar  little 
voice  hushed,  its  complainings  ended  !  A  week  ago 
those  thin,  tenacious  hands  had  seemed  strong  enough 
to  shape  all  the  coming  years  for  him,  and  now  — 

The  room  was  growing  full  of  shadows.  He  rose 
mechanically  and  walked  over  to  the  window  and  looked 
out.  The  habitual  attitude  brought  back  its  own  shock 
of  remembrance.  Again  he  saw  a  white  road  stretch 
ing  out  through  the  twilight,  and  leading — whfere  ? 
Some  boys  were  tramping  cheerily  homeward,  singing  in 
rude  chorus  the  refrain  of  a  soldier's  song.  He  beat 
time  to  the  words  unconsciously,  the  light  coming  stead 
ily  into  his  eyes.  He  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  stood  up 
suddenly.  Life  was  not  all  his  own  yet  it  seemed;  not 
his  own  while  there  was  work — that  work  — to  do. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 
"  IL  N'EST  D'AMOUR  si  TRISTE  QUI  N'AIT  SON  SOUVENIR." 

AND,  after  all,  they  met  in  the  bazaar.  Mrs.  Thayer 
had  been  buying  silks.  "  For  if  Aunt  Van  arrives 
here  to-morrow  or  next  day  —  and  Tom  says  there  is 
every  chance  of  it  —  I  had  better  have  all  my  money 
spent  before  she  gets  here.  I  don't  want  her  to  think 
me  extravagant,"  she  observed  to  Constance  pensively. 
"  If  I  could  only  decide  whether  scarlet  or  this  pale- 
yellow  was  most  becoming.  And  gold  thread?  Do  you 
really  think  now  gold  embroidery  would  not  look  theat 
rical  ?  "  with  a  perplexed  frown. 

They  were  deep  in  the  bazaars  of  Damascus  —  deep 
in  those  cool,  dim,  vaulted  spaces,  with  the  lustre  of 


SON  SOUVENIR.  229 


silks,  the  gleam  of  metal  and  porcelain  about  them,  and 
the  odor  of  gums  and  curious  spices  filling  the  dusty 
air  —  in  a  world  where  all  the  business  of  life  is  carried 
on  in  fashions  and  under  conditions  totally  different 
from  ours,  and  dignity,  tranquillity,  and  splendor  are 
jostled  by  strange  and  loathsome  shapes. 

"  Now,  do  you  think  gold  thread  theatrical  ? "  says 
Fanny  with  her  busy  frown.  i 

Constance  gave  some  vague  answer.  They  were  sit 
ting  upon  the  small,  bright  carpet  beside  the  attentive 
cross-legged  merchant ;  and  between  them  lay  a  glisten 
ing  heap  of  fine  tissues  and  stuffs  and  silks.  Opposite 
them  another  tall  olive-skinned  merchant,  in  an  apple- 
green  robe,  was  buying  sweetmeats  at  a  stand,  on  either 
side  of  which  a  loose,  white  net  was  stretched  across  the 
shops  whose  owners  were  at  prayers.  A  string  of  don 
keys  wandered  slowly  by,  their  trailing  loads  of  brush 
wood  just  clearing  the  houses  on  either  side  ;  and  now 
the  gentleman  in  green  had  found  an  acquaintance  — 
they  stopped  to  speak.  A  low,  mysterious  call,  the  im 
perative  tap  of  a  bronzed  finger  on  her  arm,  made  Con 
stance  start  and  look  round.  A  barefooted  Arab  was 
standing  beside  her  ;  he  smiled  furtively,  unrolled  one 
end  of  his  dingy,  voluminous  turban. 

"  O  Fanny  !  "  the  girl  said,  catching  her  breath.  It 
was  a  roughly-set  turquoise  ring,  a  marvel  of  blue. 

Mrs.  Thayer  asked  the  price. 

"  No  good  man,  my  lady.  You  go  jewel  bazaar  byme- 
by,"  the  guide  answered  evasively.  The  man  took  back 
his  ring  with  serene  indifference.  He  thrust  his  hand 
into  his  breast  and  drew  out  a  mass  of  bracelets  tinkling 
with  golden  coins.  "Mafeesh?"  he  sauntered  away  a 
few  steps  and  leaned  against  a  pillar  ;  a  ray  of  sunlight 
touched  the  tarnished  embroidery  of  his  dress,  its  white 
folds  fell  around  him  in  straight  lines  ;  not  a  muscle 
moved  ;  he  looked  as  though  he  might  have  been  stand 
ing  there  for  the  last  thousand  years. 

And  now  a  troop  of  white-veiled  women  came  gliding 
down  the  dusky  street,  their  footsteps  falling  noiselessly 


230  MIRAGE. 

upon  the  beaten  earth,  flitting  from  shadow  to  sunfight, 
from  gloom  to  gold,  as  dumb  and  vivid  as  a  dream. 
And  now  a  broad-hatted  Englishman  trotted  by  on  his 
donkey.  He  closed  his  umbrella  before  the  sherbet- 
seller,  and  instantly  a  pet  sheep,  henna-stained  and  all 
crossed  and  barred  with  patches  of  crimson  dye,  rushed 
up  and  knocked  it  out  of  his  hand. 

"Dear  me  !  very  extraordinary  animal  that,"  said  the 
stranger  mildly,  putting  up  his  eyeglass  to  look  reprov 
ingly  at  the  sheep. 

Presently  a  beautiful  Jew  boy,  with  straight,  small 
features  and  scarlet  lips,  went  sauntering  past,  carrying 
a  painter's  box  and  traps,  and  in  a  moment  more  ;the 
painter  himself  followed  — a  young  man,  and  talking  to 
Major  Thayer.  Something  his  companion  said  seemed 
to  amuse  him ;  he  laughed,  he  took  off  his  hat,  and 
stood  facing  the  wind. 

"Why,  Constance,"  said  Fanny,  with  a  sudden  start 
—  "why,  good  heavens!  Constance,  it's  Mr.  .Law 
rence." 

Miss  Varley  looked  up  quietly.  "  I  know,"  bending 
suddenly  over  to  look  at  some  embroidered  stuff. 

The  two  men  were  talking  busily. 

"  But  look  here,  Thayer ;  that 's  all  rubbish,  you  know," 
the  younger  man  was  saying  rather  earnestly  as  they 
came  within  earshot  of  the  ladies  ;  "  that  Persian  brand 
is  all  a  mistake.  Why,  ten  times  out  of  twelve  you 
don't  even  get  real  tobacco,  and  I  've  heard  lots  of 
fellows  —  " 

He  looked  up.     Mrs.  Thayer  was  beckoning  to  him. 

"  You  haven't  quite  forgotten  us  I  hope,  Mr.  Law 
rence  ?  "  giving  him  her  hand  with  a  brilliant  smile. 

He  made  some  appropriate  answer. 

"And  you,  Miss  Varley,"  glancing  rather  doubtfully 
at  the  girl's  grave  face,  "  you  have  not  forgotten  —  " 

She  did  not  smile  in  return. 

"  No,"  putting  out  her  hand  shyly,  "  I  haven't  for 
gotten." 

Their  fingers  met,  the  color  flushing  suddenly  across 


SON  SOUVENIR.  231 

her  throat  and  cheek.  She  turned  aside,  pulling  about 
the  silks  upon  her  lap  with  tremulous  fingers. 

The  young  man  stood  and  looked  at  her  a  moment 
in  silence.  He  was  a  trifle  disappointed  in  her  manner 
it  seemed. 

"  We  can't  stop.  I  'm  going  with  Lawrence  to  see 
some  famous  bits  for  sketches.  I  think  I  will  begin  one 
to-day,  if  the  light  holds  out,"  said  the  Major,  look 
ing  about  him  critically.  "  Lawrence  is  on  his  way  to 
some  cafe  by  the  riverside.  I  met  him  by  accident, 
and  brought  him  here  quite  by  force,  I  assure  you, 
Fanny  —  " 

"  Oh,  of  course.  Mrs.  Thayer  would  know  how  much 
truth  there  was  likely  to  be  in  that,"  the  young  man  as 
sented  carelessly.  He  reached  out  his  hand  and  pulled 
down  one  end  of  a  silken  cufieh. 

"  You  ought  to  buy  some  of  those  coarser  Bedawy 
handkerchiefs,  Mrs.  Thayer.  The  color  is  simply  superb. 
And  don't  you  like  old  things  better?  This  modern 
stuff  is  all  very  commonplace,  as  poor  and  mechanical 
in  design  as  a  Roman  scarf,"  tossing  back  the  silk  con 
temptuously.  He  glanced  up  and  down  the  street,  then 
turned  again  to  Constance.  "  It  is  too  early  yet  to  ask 
you  what  you  think  of  Damascus?"  with  a  doubtful 
inflection  in  his  voice. 

This  time  she  looked  at  him. 

"  I  have  not  seen  it.  I  think  it  must  be  the  most 
beautiful  city  in  the  world,"  she  said,  her  face  lighting 
up  with  a  sudden,  swift  smile  of  delight. 

Mr.  Lawrence  was  very  much  pleased.  He  came  and 
leaned  against  the  wall  beside  her. 

"  You  must  have  lots  of  news  to  tell  me  about  the 
people  at  home,"  he  said,  and  incontinently  fell  to  talk 
ing  about  Damascus.  He  was  going  to  a  certain  native 
cafe".  "  I  go  there  very  often.  It  isn't  the  sort  of  place 
to  see  in  a  crowd,  you  know,"  with  an  imperceptible 
glance  towards  Mrs.  Thayer,  "  but  I  wish  you  were  go 
ing  there  with  us.  I  should  like  to  have  you  see  it  as  it 
is  looking  now,  when  there  are  only  a  few  shadowy  old 


232  MIRAGE. 

men  in  the  darkest  corners,  and  the  sky  is  growing^pcfle 
and  cool,  and  all  the  sunshine  has  gone  off  the  river. 
This  bazaar  is  stifling,  but  out  there  you  will  find  the 
wind  again,  and  the  waving  of  trees,  and  the  motion  of 
running  water.  Perhaps,  if  you  stay  here  long  enough, 
you  will  hear  the  people  at  your  hotel  say  they  have 
been  to  these  cafes ;  but  that  is  all  nonsense.  They  go 
there  in  mobs,  and  the  dragomen  bully  them.  But  now 
if  you  went  there  with  me  —  It  is  all  cool  and  very 
silent,  you  know,  and  there  are  tables  out  on  the  plat 
form  above  the  water  where  one  might  sit  —  " 

"Yes!"  She  leaned  forward  eagerly.  "But  can  I 
go?  can  I  go  —  really?" 

"Well,"  he  said  laughing,  "why  not?  If  the  Major 
is  willing  to  take  you  —  " 

There  was  little  or  nothing  to  ^remember  in  all  the 
walk  which  followed,  but  this  girl  remembered  it  all  her 
life.  She  was  very  silent  that  afternoon,  listening  for 
the  most  part  very  quietly  to  the  talk  of  her  compan 
ions.  It  was  more  than  three  years  since  she  had  heard 
his  voice ! 

"  Are  you  tired  ?  I  am  afraid  the  walk  has  been  too 
much  for  you,"  the  Major  asked  her  once ;  and  Law 
rence  smiled  to  himself  at  the  question,  for  indeed  there 
was  but  small  suggestion  of  fatigue  in  the  still  content 
ment  of  her  face.  And  as  for  her  —  well,  she  was 
happy,  as  one  is  happy  perhaps  twice  or  thrice  in  a  life 
time.  The  strange  and  beautiful  figures  about  her 
passed  and  repassed  like  the  pale  figures  of  a  dream. 
Once  a  line  of  heavy-laden  camels  went  swaying  by, 
and  Lawrence  laid  his  hand  upon  her  arm. 

"  Take  care  !  "  he  said. 

They  were  standing  close  together  for  an  instant,  her 
dress  brushing  against  him  when  she  moved.  Her  arm 
trembled,  her  hands  growing  cold  and  nerveless  under 
his  touch.  She  looked  away  with  sudden  shyness. 
She  had  not  seen  him  for  three  years  ! 

And  when  they  got  to  the  cafe  :  "  This  is  a  very  nice 
place  for  your  sketch,  you  know,  Major.  I've  done 


SON  SOUVENIR.  233 

those  buildings  myself.  But  of  course  Miss  Varley 
can't  wait  for  you  out  here.  There  '11  be  a  mob  about 
you  before  you  know  where  you  are,"  the  young  man 
remarked. 

"  Oh,  of  course  not,"  said  Major  Thayer,  good- 
humoredly.  The  old  fellow  was  very  fond  of  Con 
stance.  It  was  he  who  suggested  to  Miss  Varley  that 
they  should  wait  for  him  on  the  wooden  platform  out 
side  near  the  river.  "  I  daresay  Lawrence  won't  mind 
looking  after  you  for  a  few  minutes.  I  shall  be  right 
here ;  in  the  next  room,  you  know,"  with  sudden  guilty 
remembrance  of  Fanny's  injunctions. 

They  went  out  on  the  platform.  A  very  old  man 
with  a  black  turban  and  a  long  white  beard  rose  up  and 
bowed  gravely  at  their  entrance. 

"  That  is  an  old  acquaintance  of  mine.  An  Armenian 
merchant.  He  has  been  giving  me  lessons  in  Persian 
of  late  ;  I  daresay  he  is  waiting  for  me  now,"  nodding 
to  him  carelessly  as  they  passed.  "  Sit  here.  I  am 
going  to  order  some  Damascene  sweetmeats  .for  you. 
You  know  you  were  always  as  fond  as  a  baby  of 
sweets  —  " 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  keep  you  from  your  lesson,"  the 
girl  said  shyly. 

"  And  if  I  want  to  be  kept  ?  " 

"  I  see  a  rose  —  the  first  rose  of  the  season.  Summer 
has  come,"  she  said  incoherently,  bending  suddenly  for 
ward  to  look  at  the  full  and  silent  stream. 

The  water  rushed  swiftly  by  without  a  ripple  or  a 
sound  ;  only  the  delicate-footed  wind  kept  up  a  low,  con 
tinuous  murmuring  amongst  the  deep  water-splashed 
foliage  of  the  trees,  and  high  up  above  them  a  single 
palm  leaned  in  full  sunlight  from  a  garden-wall. 

"  It  is  such  a  beautiful  world  !  "  the  girl  said  sud 
denly,  looking  up  with  a  level,  radiant  glance. 

"  I  should  like  to  make  a  drawing  of  you  some  day," 
Lawrence  told  her  presently.  "  You  will  pose  for  me 
some  time  ?  And  are  you  going  to  stay  ?  You  have  told 
me  nothing  of  your  plans." 


234  MIRAGE. 

"  Aunt  Van  is  coming.  One  can't  have  Aun>-Van 
and  settled  plans  at  the  same  time,  you  know,"  with  a 
careless  laugh.  "  But  you,  Mr.  Lawrence  ?  You  never 
used  to  have  plans  once,  I  know,"  resting  her  cheek 
upon  her  hand,  and  looking  at  him  frankly. 

Mr.  Lawrence  did  not  answer  for  a  few  minutes. 
Some  chance  turn  of  her  head  or  hand,  some  faltering 
inflection  in  her  voice,  had  struck  him  with  a  sudden 
flash  of  recollection,  evoking  another  face  from  out  the 
past.  The  likeness  troubled  him. 

"  I  ?  my  plans  ?  "  he  repeated  absently.  "  I  had 
nearly  decided  to  go  to  Constantinople,  but  now  — r  " 

"  Now  ?  "  catching  her  breath  anxiously. 

He  frowned  slightly,  still  keeping  his  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  river. 

"  I  have  an  idea  for  a  picture  —  You  remember  that 
talk  we  had  about  my  painting  once  ?  I  have  often 
thought  of  what  you  said  that  day.  It  is  enough  to 
make  a  man  stick  to  his  work  at  any  cost  to  have  been 
believed,  in  in  that  fashion,"  turning  to  her  with  one  of 
his  rare,  sudden  smiles. 

She  could  hardly  trust  herself  to  speak  about  that 
past,  she  remembered  it  all  so  well.  But  he  alluded  to 
it  constantly  —  lightly,  easily,  with  a  blurring  over  of 
details,  a  confusion  of  names  and  dates  she  invariably 
noted,  and  without  comment. 

"  It  scarcely  seems  three  years  ago,  does  it  ?  "  he  said 
to  her  once.  "What  have  you  been  doing  all  that 
time  ?  You  have  not  changed  in  the  least,"  looking  at 
her  with  slow  scrutiny. 

"  I  have  been  living  at  home,"  said  Constance,  simply. 
"  I  think  I  have  done  nothing  but  read.  You  said  — 
I  remember  somebody  told  me  once  that  women  never 
read  any  thing  through.  I  don't  think  any  one  could 
say  that  of  me  —  now,"  with  a  low,  happy  laugh. 

There  was  nothing  especial,  nothing  to  remember  in 
all  that  silent,  idle  afternoon,  and  yet  they  both  remem 
bered  it. 

"  It  is  so  long  since  I  have  seen  any  one  to  speak  to 


SON  SOUVENIR.  .  235 

beside  a  lot  of  men.  I  am  really  very  glad  you  have 
come,"  said  Lawrence.  "  While  I  am  here  you  must 
let  me  show  you  something  of  the  city  ;  there  are  lots  of 
out-of-the-way  places  where  I  can  take  you  —  you  and 
the  Major  and  Mrs.  Thayer." 

"  Jack  —  Mr.  Stuart  is  travelling  with  us,"  said  Con 
stance  abruptly. 

She  had  utterly  forgotten  his  existence  until  that 
moment. 

Mr.  Lawrence  was  looking  at  her  with  attention. 

"  Mr.  Stuart?  ah,  yes.  Ferris  told  me  that  he  was  — 
that  he  was  with  you." 

He  got  up  and  stood  leaning  over  the  balustrade, 
looking  down  at  the  water.  He  put  out  his  hand  and 
plucked  a  rose  from  the  trellis  beside  him. 

"  You  know  the  story  about  roses  ?  "  he  said,  crump 
ling  the  crimson  petals  in  his  hand. 

"  The  story  —  ?  " 

"  It  is  part  of  an  Arabian  love-song,"  said  Lawrence, 
absently.  "  How,  when  Eve  was  driven  out  of  Eden, 
she  lingered  outside  at  the  closed  gate  praying  the 
angel  for  a  single  flower  to  carry  with  her  into  exile. 
And  the  angel  looked  at  her,  and  because  she  was  so 
exceeding  fair  he  threw  her  out  a  single  red  rose  —  a 
rose  of  Paradise.  And  ever  since  that  day  every 
descendant  of  Eve,  at  some  time  of  his  life  —  and  once 
—  has  smelt  the  perfume  of  that  flower,  and  after 
that — after  that  and  until  he  dies  —  well  !  There  are 
earthly  roses,  fortunately,"  looking  down  with  an  odd 
expression  at  the  crumpled  flower. 

"  You  are  crushing  it,"  said  Constance,  putting  out 
her  hand. 

He  did  not  see  the  gesture.  The  old  Armenian  mer 
chant  had  been  watching  them  with  patient  gravity 
since  they  entered.  When  Lawrence  moved  he  laid 
down  his  pipe,  and  stood  up.  He  approached  them 
now,  and  bowed,  standing  deferentially  aside  and  not 
looking  at  Constance. 

"  You   will    excuse    me,   Miss    Varley,"   the    young 


236  MIRAGE. 

man  said,  "if  I  leave  you  an  instant  to  speak  to 
Ahmed  ? " 

And  then  as  they  were  talking  together  he  took  out 
his  pocket-book  to  look  over  some  notes,  and  as  he 
held  it  open  in  his  hand  the  wind  caught  up  a  crumpled 
piece  of  paper  and  threw  it  at  Miss  Varley's  feet. 

The  young  man  rejoined  her  again  in  a  moment ;  he 
was  looking  rather  annoyed. 

"  I  told  you  old  Ahmed  was  a  merchant,  didn't  I  ? 
Well,  he  is  going  almost  immediately.  His  caravan  is 
nearly  ready  now  ;  he  starts  for  Bagdad  within  three 
days." 

She  answered  nothing  to  this.  Old  Ahmed  and  his 
movements  were  equally  indifferent  to  her. 

"  But,  oh,  Mr.  Lawrence,"  she  said  suddenly,  "  is  not 
this  paper  yours  ?  I  picked  it  up  —  " 

He  took  it  from  her  and  looked  at  it.  It  was  the 
letter  he  had  been  reading  an  hour  or  two  before. 

"  Yes,  it  is  mine,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  and  after  a 
slight  pause.  He  held  it  in  his  hand  in  an  undecided 
way  for  a  minute  or  two,  then  tore  it  deliberately  across 
into  strips  and  flung  them  into  the  river. 

"  Do  you  know  what  sort  of  a  thing  is  a  protested 
note,  Miss  Varley  ? " 

"  No." 

"  Well,  that  was  one,"  pointing  to  the  fragments  and 
speaking  in  a  harder  voice  than  she  had  ever  heard  him 
use  before.  "  There  are  natures,"  he  went  on  presently, 
"  so  absolutely  truthful  that  they  make  every  wilful  fas 
cination  seem  tawdry  as  a  stage  jewel  in  comparison. 
It  is  fresh  air  and  sunshine  after  '  the  perfumed  shade 
of  the  forbidden  tree.'  One  respects  such  natures,  Miss 
Varley,"  looking  at  her  with  a  great  expression  of  liking 
in  his  eyes. 

By  this  time  the  Major  had  finished  his  picture.  He 
came  in,  holding  it  in  his  hand,  and  very  much  pleased. 

"  Not  so  bad,  not  so  bad,  I  think,  eh,  Lawrence  ? " 
contemplating  the  sketch  fondly  at  arm's-length.  He 
glanced  about  him  curiously.  "  So  this  is  the  sort  of 


SON  SOUVENIR.  237 

place  you  talk  about,  is  it  ?  Nice  sort  of  place  for  a 
hot  day,  perhaps.  I  don't  see  much  in  it. myself.  You 
are  coming  to  dine  with  us  to-night,  my  boy  ?  Non 
sense  !  but  you  must.  Mrs.  Thayer  told  me  to  bring 
you  ;  and  we  don't  disobey  orders,  do  we,  Constance  ? 
Hollo  !  you  Ve  lost  your  rose,"  pointing  to  some  scattered 
petals  on  the  floor. 

"  Mr.  Lawrence  never  gave  it  to  me,"  said  Constance. 

When  they  reached  the  hotel,  the  first  person  they 
saw  was  Jack  Stuart,  leaning  against  the  door-post, 
smoking.  He  threw  away  his  cigar  and  took  off  his 
hat  as  Constance  approached  him,  but  otherwise  he  did 
not  trouble  himself  to  move. 

"  Hollo,  Jack  !  Why,  where  have  you  been,  and  what 
have  you  been  doing  with  yourself?  "  said  the  Major. 

"  I  Ve  been  amusing  myself,"  said  Jack  shortly.  It 
seemed  an  unsuccessful  form  of  entertainment  by  his 
voice. 

"You  ought  to  have  been  with  us.  Lawrence  took  us 
to  a  cafe',  and  —  let  me  see  ;  I  think  you  must  remember 
having  met  Mr.  Lawrence  ?  " 

The  two  young  men  looked  up  at  each  other  and 
nodded  distantly. 

"  I  saw  you  at  the  Farm,  I  think  ?  " 

"  I  believe  so,"  said  Denis  carelessly. 

They  went  into  the  courtyard  together  ;  the  light  was 
stronger  here  than  in  the  narrow  street.  When  they 
reached  the  fountain,  Stuart  turned  and  looked  with 
keen  attention  first  at  Lawrence  and  then  at  the  girl. 
He  was  a  shrewd  observer  of  faces,  and  something  in 
her  attitude  as  they  came  up  the  street,  some  slight  ex 
pression  of  languor  in  the  proud  and  erect  carriage,  the 
turn  of  her  head,  the  shy,  swift  smile  with  which  she 
answered  some  chance  remark  of  her  companion  — 
nothing,  every  thing  —  had  struck  him  with  some  sud 
den  intimation  of  the  truth.  "  But  proving  nothing,"  he 
told  himself,  "  proving  nothing,"  looking  down  at  the 
plashing  water  with  a  quick,  nervous  shiver,  as  though 
the  summer  night  had  suddenly  grown  cold. 


238  MIRAGE. 

"My  glove,  please,  Mr.  Stuart.  It  is  there  by" your 
foot,"  said  Constance,  turning.  Her  voice,  too,  had 
changed ;  it  was  gentle  as  ever,  but  tremulous,  vibrat 
ing  with  the  same  baffling  intangible  sense  of  change. 
He  stooped  and  handed  her  the  glove,  looking  straight 
into  her  eyes  as  he  did  so.  The  color  shifted  uneasily 
upon  her  cheek. 

"  It  is  some  lover's  quarrel,"  thought  Lawrence,  curi 
ously,  watching  them  with  coldly  critical  eyes.  He  took 
the  Major  by  the  arm.  "  You  have  never  finished  that 
story  about  old  Johnson  ?  I  have  not  seen  him  since 
we  were  in  the  hospital  together  —  swearing  John-son 
we  used  to  call  him  there,"  turning  aside  to  leaved  the 
others  freer.  And  it  might  have  been  the  Major's  story 
which  brought  that  look  upon  his  face. 

The  twilight  deepened  into  darkness,  a  cool  and  odor- 
ous  darkness,  full  of  faint  scent  of  flowers  and  the  sound 
of  water  falling.  The  wind  was  hushed  ;  the  lamp 
hardly  flickered  by  the  doorway,  but  from  time  to  time 
the  small,  new  leaves  overhead  rustled  suddenly  and 
were  still. 

They  were  sitting  out  in  the  courtyard  after  dinner, 
all  of  them  —  sitting  or  lying  upon  the  cushions  of  the 
divan,  and  Davenant  was  at  Miss  Varley's  feet.  There 
was  something  about  this  girl  which  appealed  irresistibly 
to  the  young  man's  imagination  —  a  simple  largeness  of 
line  and  joyousness  of  nature  and  repose.  "She  is  as 
fresh  and  harmonious  and  passionless  as  the  early  morn 
ing,"  he  said  one  day  quite  seriously  to  Ferris.  And 
now,  as  they  lounged  in  the  uncertain  moonlight  —  for 
now  the  young  crescent  moon  had  climbed  above  the 
tree-tops,  and  the  thread  of  water  glistened,  the  fig-leaf 
shadows  fell  upon  the  marble  floor  —  the  charm  of  her 
personality  possessed  him  ^  he  offered  her  a  secret 
homage  of  sentiment  as  delicate  and  elusive  as  those 
shadows. 

Her  fan  had  fallen  to  the  ground  ;  he  opened  it  wide 
and  held  it  up  against  the  moonlight. 

"  I  wrote  some  verses  for  your  fan,  for  your  Japanese 


SON  SOUVENIR.  239 


fan,  the  other  day,"  he  said  dreamily ;  and  after  a  mo 
ment,  and  as  no  one  answered,  he  began  to  repeat  some 
lines,  half  to  'himself,  and  in  a  low  and  singularly  well- 
modulated  voice :  — 

A  flowery  fan  for  a  white,  flower  hand 
(  White  cranes  flying  across  the  moon)  — 

A  breath  of  wind  from  a  windless  land  — 
A  breath  in  the  breathless  noon. 

Flowers  that  blossom  —  a  wind  that  blows 
(  White  cranes  sailing  across  the  sky]  — 

A  sigh  for  the  light  love,  the  love  that  goes, 
A  flower  for  the  loves  that  die  ! 

"Very  pretty,"  said  Fanny,  as  he  finished,  "very 
pretty,  indeed.  But  I  'm  afraid  you  will  think  me  sadly 
stupid  for  asking,  and  indeed  it  is  hardly  a  fair  ques 
tion  to  ask,  —  but  what  did  you  intend  it  to  mean,  Mr. 
Davenant?" 

"  Ah,  but  I  never  explain  things,"  said  Davenant,  in 
his  most  languid  tone. 

There  was  an  awkward  silence,  broken  at  last  by  the 
Major's  voice,  inquiring  of  Lawrence  if  he  knew  what 
had  become  of  their  old  regimental  chaplain. 

"  Oh,  he  gave  up  the  army,  and  went  to  Paris  after 
the  war.  He  is  more  High  Church  than  ever  now,  and 
has  an  especial  day  for  hearing  young  ladies  confess. 
I  heard  about  him  only  the  other  day,"  said  Lawrence 
carelessly,  "  and,  quriously  enough,  I  heard  of  him  from 
a  man  he  had  just  converted." 

The  Major  laughed. 

"May  I  ask  what  there  is  so  curious  in  that?"  said 
Mrs.  Thayer,  rather  sharply. 

"Well,"  rejoined  Lawrence  very  calmly,  "perhaps 
there  is  not  much  in  it  after  all.  Tom  was  only  re 
membering  some  old  story  about  our  chaplain  —  the 
Infant  Samuel,  the  soldiers  called  him.  I  don't  throw 
any  doubt  upon  the  man's  conversion  myself,  you  will 
please  observe.  Indeed,  I  think  it  highly  probable. 
He  is  by  no  means  the  first  man  who  has  been  saved 


240  MIRAGE.      . 

by  the  voice  of  a  humble  preacher  since  the  days  when 
Balaam  was  saved  by  the  voice  of  an  ass." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Fanny  blankly. 

And  then  a  moment  later :  "  Constance  dear,  it  is 
really  growing  quite  chilly,  and  I  see  you  have  no  wrap," 
she  said  softly.  "  Don't  you  think  it  is  time  to  leave  the 
gentlemen  to  their  cigars  —  and  their  stories  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Thayer,  if  you  mean  me,  I  am  mute  from  this 
time  henceforth,"  said  Lawrence  laughing. 

Mr.  Stuart  sprang  up  :  "I  will  fetch  Constance  a 
shawl,"  glad  of  any  excuse  for  doing  something.  He 
came  back  in  a  moment.  "  This  is  yours,  I  think  ? " 
he  said,  but  he  did  not  offer  to  put  the  wrap  about  her, 
and  it  was  Ferris  who  took  it  out  of  his  hand. 

"  Mr.  Stuart  has  exhibited  his  taste.  You  should  al 
ways  wear  white,  Miss  Varley,"  said  Lawrence,  "  soft, 
flexible,  white  things  like  this,"  taking  up  a  corner  of 
the  drapery.  It  was  almost  the  first  time  he  had  spoken 
to  her  that  evening,  and  she  turned  to  him  at  once  with 
a  soft,  sudden  stir  of  pleasure. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  simply,  drawing  the  shawl  more 
closely  about  her. 

The  moon  had  long  since  vanished  behind  the  dark 
and  rustling  trees  ;  the  sky  was  pale  and  starlit  and 
very  silent. 

"  A  night  for  music,"  said  Davenant,  "for  the  sound 
of  falling  water,  and  the  clear  notes  of  stringed  instru 
ments,  and  song." 

"  You  used  to  sing  once  upon  a  time,  Lawrence  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes,  do  !  "  said  Mrs.  Thayer  suavely.  She  had  a 
strong  antipathy  to  Lawrence. 

The  young  man  hesitated  a  moment ;  he  looked  up  at 
Constance.  "  I  don't  know,"  he  began  doubtfully  ;  and 
then,  as  still  she  did  not  speak,  he  moved  slightly,  and 
leaning  on  his  elbow,  looking  up  at  the  pale,  luminous 
sky  above  him,  and  in  a  clear  and  singularly  flexible 
voice,  he  began  to  sing  :  — 

Wie  heisst  Konig  Ringang's  Tochterlein  ? 
Rohtraut,  Schon-Rohtraut  ! 


SON  SOUVENIR.  241 

In  the  faint  half-light  Stuart  could  see  the  girl  start 
and  lean  forward  at  the  first  familiar  notes ;  but  what 
could  he,  what  could  any  of  them,  know  of  the  deep 
and  passionate  sadness  and  longing  which  filled  her 
heart  at  the  sound  of  those  old  and'unforgotten  words? 

Darauf  sie  ijtten  schweigend  heim, 

Rohtraut,  Schon-Rohtraut  ! 
Es  jauchzt  der  Knab '  in  seinem  Sinn ; 
Und  wiirdst  du  heute  Kaiserin 
Mich  sollst  nicht  Kranken  : 
Ihr  tausend  Blatter  im  Walde  wisst 
Ich  hab'  Schon-Rohtraut's  Mund  gekiisst  — 
Schweig  stille,  mein  Herz,  schweig  still ! 

He  had  begun  carelessly  enough,  but  as  the  sentiment 
of  the  lines  touched  his  imagination,  his  voice  deepened 
and  gained  in  tone.  The  last  words  were  given  with  a 
curious  and  passionate  restraint,  and  as  he  ended  — 
and  for  a  moment  no  one  spoke — only  the  splash  of 
the  fountain  sounded  through  the  silence. 

"  That  is  a  very  old  song,  you  know,"  he  said  at  last, 
turning  to  Constance. 

"  I  remember  it,"  the  girl  said  quickly ;  and  then,  as 
Mrs.  Thayer  moved,  she  too  arose,  and  they  all  walked 
on  together  towards  the  house. 

The  "  Good-nights "  were  said  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairway  leading  to  the  upper  gallery  surrounding  the 
court. 

"Good-night,  Constance  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Thayer, 
leaning  over  this  balustrade. 

The  girl  was  waiting  while  Lawrence  lighted  her 
candle. 

"  Well,  Constance,  good-night,"  said  the  Major,  turn 
ing  to  follow  the  young  men  to  the  door. 

A  lamp  was  burning  at  the  foot  of  the  staircase ; 
its  light  shone  full  upon  her  face.  She  was  strangely 
pale,  and  her  eyes  were  dewy  and  dark  with  emotion  ; 
they  glistened  in  the  light  as  she  took  her  candle  from 
Denis. 

"  Good-night,  Mr.  Lawrence,"  she  said  shyly.  She 
16 


242  MIRAGE. 

went  up  a  step  or  two  and  looked  back  at  him,  '^Good 
night  ! " 

The  young  man  started.  "Won't  you  give  me  your 
hand  ?"  he  said.  He  just  touched  her  fingers.  "Good 
night,  Constance." 

She  lifted  her  eyes  for  an  instant  and  looked  at  him. 
Without  another  word  she  turned  and  went  slowly  up 
the  stairs.  Her  room  fronted  the  street.  The  window 
was  open,  and  the  flickering  flare  of  a  street-lamp 
streamed  redly  in  as  she  entered.  She  locked  the  door 
behind  her,  and  set  her  candle  down  upon  the  table.  A 
mirror  hung  before  her ;  she  leaned  both  hands  upon 
the  table,  she  looked  long  and  earnestly  at  the  reflection  ^ 
in  the  tarnished  frame. 

"  After  three  years  !  "  she  said  aloud. 

The  sound  of  her  own  voice  startled  her.  She  gazed 
fixedly  at  the  face  in  the  glass,  and,  as  she  gazed,  a 
wave  of  happy  color  swept  over  her  delicate  cheek. 

"Good-night,  Constance,  you  happy  Constance!  "  she 
whispered  under  her  breath.  Her  face  burned ;  she 
put  up  her  hands  before  it.  She  leaned  over  with  a 
sudden  motion  and  blew  out  the  light. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

ONE   SIDE   OF   THE   QUESTION. 

MEANWHILE  the  young  men  had  gathered  about 
the  street  door ;  they  were  tajking  and  lighting 
their  pipes.  It  was  rather  late  that  evening  to  go  any 
where,  would  not  Mr.  Stuart  come  round  to  their  lodg 
ings  with  them  and  have  something,  Mr.  Ferris  suggested 
politely?  There  was  some  very  fair  Lebanon  wine. 

"  Oh,  bother  the   rooms  !  "    said    Davenant   quickly ; 
"come  round  to  the  cafe  and  hear  some  native  music." 
"  The  dancing-girls  here  were  not  worth  looking   at 


ONE  SIDE   OF  THE   QUESTION.          243 

after  Cairo,"  Mr.  Lawrence  remarked  confidentially  to 
his  cigar. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Stuart  stiffly,  "I'm  engaged;" 
and  there  was  an  intentional  emphasis  of  refusal  in  his 
manner  which  made  the  others  turn  and  stare. 

"Well,"  began  Davenant,  as  Jack  walked  off,  "well, 
of  all  the  cheeky  —  " 

"  Be  quiet !  "  said  Ferris,  in  a  stage  whisper.  "  Per 
haps,"  he  went  on  aloud,  "  we  may  be  more  fortunate 
with  you  than  with  your  cousin,  Major? " 

As  for  Stuart,  he  went  down  by  the  river ;  he  sat  on 
the  parapet  of  the  bridge  and  stared  at  the  dark,  swift 
water  rushing  by  through  the  night,  with  the  dumbness 
of  baffled  desire  in  a  nature  which  knew  no  expression 
for  itself  but  action.  All  the  strong  common-sense, 
which  was  the  dominant  quality  in  the  young  man's 
character,  warned  him  against  the  encroaching  influence 
of  Constance. 

"  If  I  can't  do  any  thing  else  I  can  go  away,"  he 
thought  desperately.  "  I  '11  go  away  and  leave  her," 
taking  up  a  stone  and  flinging  it  savagely  at  the  nearest 
pariah  dog.  The  animal  limped  away  with  a  sharp  yelp 
of  discomfiture,  and  even  in  the  depths  of  his  misery 
the  young  man  could  not  restrain  a  smile.  It  died 
away  as  suddenly  as  it  had  come.  He  turned  back 
towards  the  hotel.  There  was  a  light  still  shining  in 
her  room  as  he  came  down  the  street ;  but  even  as  he 
turned  to  look  at  it  again  a  shadow  moved  quickly 
across  the  curtain,  and  the  candle  was  blown  out. 

The  courtyard  was  empty  and  quiet  enough  when  he 
reached  it.  He  met  no  one  on  his  way  to  his  room  but 
a  sleepy  servant,  who  sprang  up  from  the  mat  on  which 
he  was  dreaming  to  salute  the  young  man  gravely  as  he 
passed.  The  others  had  long  since  gone  their  different 
ways. 

"  Oh,  come  along  and  take  a  walk,  Lawrence," 
Davenant  had  suggested,  as  they  passed  down  the 
narrow  street. 

Ferris   laughed.     "  I  believe  you  two  fellows  ne  /er 


244  MIRAGE. 

sleep  at  all,"  he  said  with  lazy  amusement.     And^sothe 
young  men  parted. 

It  was  a  quiet  and  very  beautiful  night.  They  strolled 
along  the  river's  bank  for  some  distance  beyond  the 
town.  The  sky  overhead  was  pale  and  luminous  with 
the  wan  radiance  of  the  stars,  and  out  here  in  the  open 
fields  the  world  seemed  larger ;  the  damp  wind  from  the 
water  blew  more  freshly  about  them. 

"  Ah,"  said  Davenant,  "  this  was  indeed  worth  coming 
for;"  taking  off  his  hat  and  letting  the  breeze  play 
coolly  about  his  bared  forehead  and  throat.  He  threw 
himself  down  on  the  short,  close  grass  by  the  river's 
brink.  "Sit  down,  Lawrence,  won't  you?"  ;, 

They  sat  there  a  long  time  in  silence,  listening  to  the' 
water's  stealthy  flow.  The  river  poured  by  them  through 
the  open  fields,  dark  and  mobile  and  dumb. 

"  Black  as  the  waters  of  accursed  Styx,"  said  Dave 
nant  dreamily.  He  turned,  leaning  upon  his  elbow : 
"  Lawrence  ! " 

"  I  hear." 

"  That  girl  is  in  love  with  you,"  abruptly. 

Mr.  Lawrence  did  not  answer  for  a  moment.  "  If 
you  mean  that  for  a  joke,  Davenant — " 

"  A  joke !  I  ?  and  on  such  a  night,  in  this  divine 
silence  ?  I  would  as  soon  —  I  would  as  soon  think  of 
writing  a  parody  on  the  '  Antigone,' "  the  young  man 
said,  indignantly.  And  then,  as  Denis  did  not  answer  : 
"  I  said  that  girl  was  in  love  with  you,"  he  repeated 
placidly  ;  "  and  so  she  is.  I  don't  think  she  knows  it, 
though.  I  hope  she  won't  find  it  out,  myself.  You 
would  not  wish  her  to,  either,  if  you  could  only  have 
seen  the  divine  melancholy  in  her  eyes  while  you  were 
singing.  I  thought  of  Shelley's  '  Prometheus  ' :  — 

Thine  eyes  are  like  the  deep,  blue,  boundless  heaven 
Contracted  to  two  circles  underneath, 
Their  long,  fine  lashes,  dark,  far,  measureless, 
Orb  within  orb,  and  line  through  line  enwoven. 

And  then,  don't  you  remember  ?     Panthea  asks,  — 
Why  lookest  thou  as  if  a  spirit  passed  ? 


ONE  SIDE   OF  THE   QUESTION.          24$ 

No,  I  hope  that  she  will  never  know  that  she  has  loved 
you." 

Lawrence  moved  uneasily. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  you  are  aware  of  it,  my  boy, 
but  you  are  certainly  talking  greater  rubbish  than  usual, 
it  seems  to  me,"  forcing  a  careless  laugh. 

He  took  up  a  stone  and  flung  it  into  the  water. 

"  Miss  Varley  —  and  I  only  say  it  to  put  a  stop  to  a 
—  a'  ridiculous  discussion  into  which  her  name  should 
not  be  brought  —  Miss  Varley  is  engaged  to  be  married 
to  Stuart,"  bringing  out  the  last  words  with  great 
distinctness.  • 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Davenant  simply. 

The  reply  staggered  him. 

"Well  —  why,  man,  don't  you  understand  English? 
She  is  engaged  to  be  married,  I  tell  you  ;  has  been  in 
love  with  the  fellow  for  years  for  all  I  know  to  the  con 
trary  ;  and  then,  because  she  listens  to  a  beautiful  song 
with  some  human  sentiment,  you  want  me  to  believe  — 
you  might  as  well  tell  me  I  was  in  love  with  Mrs. 
Thayer,"  with  a  short  laugh. 

"  Mrs.  Thayer,"  said  Davenant  seriously,  "  is  a  very 
pretty  woman.  She  reminds  me  of  nothing  so  much  as 
of  a  paper  doll.  I  can  see  no  use  for  natures  of  that 
quality  in  the  world,  if  it  is  not  to  serve  to  heighten  and 
intensify,  by  force  of  contrast,  the  divine  anguish  of 
thinkers  and  poets.  Yes,  they  have  their  use,  perhaps, 
after  all.  But  as  for  Miss  Varley  —  are  all  her  people 
Americans,  Lawrence  ? " 

"  No  ;  I  don't  know." 

"  Because  it  would  be  an  interesting  fact  to  verify. 
As  a  mere  matter  of  opinion,  I  feel  convinced  she  has 
European  blood  in  her.  Perhaps  on  her  mother's 
side  ? " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Mr.  Lawrence. 

"  You  see,"  said  Davenant,  thoughtfully,  "  the  few 
American  women  I  have  known  impressed  me  rather 
differently.  It's  a  commonplace  to  say  that  they  lack 
sentiment,  but  a  commonplace  fact.  They  are  lovely, 


246  MIRAGE. 

but  they  have  no  hold  upon  the  imagination  ;  their  very 
beauty  affects  me  like  the  keen  and  brilliant  sunshine 
of  a  windy  day.  Now,  Miss  Varley  —  to  go  back  to 
what  we  were  saying  —  you're  not  asleep,  Lawrence?" 

"  No." 

"  Miss  Varley  is  quite  different.  When  I  look  at 
that  girl  and  realize  the  beautiful  artistic  capacity  for 
suffering,  and  for  deep,  passionate  emotion  in  that 
nature,  and  then  —  when  I  look  at  Mr.  Stuart  and 
reflect  upon  the  hideously  comfortable  and  bourgeois 
happiness  he  will  stifle  her  under — Lawrence,"  said 
Davenant,  raising  himself  up  and  speaking  with  a 
mournful  solemnity,  "  I  feel  as  though  I  were  Seeing 
some  piece  of  rare  and  exquisite  Venetian  glass  —  some 
thin,  priceless,  wave-tinted  marvel  of  beauty  —  given 
over  into  the  hands  of  a  German  beer-drinker.  I  feel 
as  though  I  were  witnessing  a  sacrilege." 

"  Oh,  come  now,"  said  Lawrence  sharply,  "  Stuart 
isn't  a  bad  fellow  in  his  way." 

"  Bad  ?  oh,  clear  no.  He  's  quite  incapable  of  bad 
ness,  poor  devil  !  "  said  Davenant,  with  serene  compas 
sion.  "  He  hasn't  even  the  consciousness  of  his  superb 
brute  force.  Think  of  the  calm,  sweet  exultation  of  a 
Greek  in  such  perfection  of  physical  power  !  And  he  ! 
I  was  looking  at  him  this  evening  ;  why  the  fellow  does 
not  even  know-how  handsome  he  is,"  with  a  faint  smile 
of  contempt. 

"  Ah,  well,  other  people  are  not  so  blind,  perhaps," 
Lawrence  suggested  with  a  short  laugh.  He  rolled 
over  and  leaned  his  face  upon  his  hands,  looking  down 
at  the  swift-moving  darkness  below  him.  The  very 
silence  of  the  night  seemed  full  of  remembrance  and 
subtle  suggestion.  He  moved  uneasily.  "  You  are 
ready  to  go  home,  Davenant  ?  " 

"  I  was  thinking,"  the  young  man  said  dreamily,  "  if 
I  were  richer,  and  ten  years  older,  I  should  marry  Miss 
Varley  myself." 

"  You  marry  Miss  Varley !  " 

"Oh,    there    are    objections,   -I   know."     He    spoke 


ONE  SIDE   OF   THE   QUESTION.  247 

placidly,  and  precisely  in  the  manner  with  which  he 
would  have  discussed  some  old  picture.  "There  are 
many  other  emotions  I  wish  to  experience  before  I 
marry  —  emotions  absolutely  essential  to  the  artistic 
consummation  of  a  life.  I  was  thinking  more  of  Miss 
Varley  when  I  spoke.  And  yet,  do  you  know,  I  can 
quite  well  imagine  that  Mr.  Stuart  would  be  an  agree 
able  lover?  He's  a  good-natured  creature^  and  very 
pleasant  to  look  at,  and  love  —  modern  love  I  mean  — 
not  the  fatal,  demoniac  possession  of  the  Greek  poets, 
but  the  love  of  these  latter  days  —  sad  with  insatiable 
desire,  faint  with  pity,  and  over-shadowed  with  the  aw 
ful  sense  of  its  own  import  and  brevity.  The  modern 
passion  of  love,"  said  Mr.  Davenant  reflectively,  "is,  to 
my  thinking,  like  the  mirage  of  the  desert  —  a  sem 
blance,  a  reflection  of  far-off  beauty  cast  upon  gifting 
sands." 

"  You  have  tried  it,  of  course  ? "  said  Lawrence, 
dryly. 

"And  in  all  probability,"  Davenant  continued — he 
did  not  pay  the  smallest  attention  to  the  interruption  — 
"  in  all  probability  they  will  be  married,  and  be  as  dis 
gustingly  contented  with  the  polite  inanities  of  life  as  all 
the  other  members  of  society  one  knows.  Still,  I  don't 
know,  I  have  some  hope  for  Miss  Varley." 

u  Some  hope  that  she  may  be  picturesquely  miserable, 
perhaps  ?  " 

"  A  hope  that  this  unconscious  love  of  hers  —  and  I 
really  can  assure  you  that  the  higher  part  of  that  girl's 
nature  is  in  love  with  you,  Lawrence  —  a  hope,  I  say, 
that  this  love  may  prove  a  saving  influence  in  her  future 
life  —  a  beautiful  grave  in  which  she  will  keep  her  soul, 
as  in  a  place  out  of  sight  —  a  holy  place,  'full  of  the 
sound  of  the  sorrow  of  years.'  I  think,  in  your  place,  I 
should  not  have  allowed  that"  —  mildly — "and  yet, 
perhaps,  you  are  right.  It  may  be  one  of  those  sublime 
sacrifices  to  self  which  art  demands.  Your  life  is 
formed  already,  and  it  might  be  very  fatal  to  a  man's 
artistic  development  to  marry  young,  don't  you  think  ?" 


248  MIRAGE. 

Mr.  Lawrence  did  not  answer.  He  was  Quietly 
stretched  out  on  the  grass  listening.  No  other  man 
alive  would  have  been  allowed  to  speak  to  him  in  this 
fashion,  he  thought  ;  but  this  boy,  Davenant,  Claude  — 
why,  his  very  unconsciousness  of  offence  privileged  him. 
He  lay  there  a  few  minutes  longer,  quite  motionless. 
Perhaps  he  was  waiting  to  hear  if  Davenant  had  no 
more  to  say ;  but  as  the  younger  man  remained  silent, 
he  got  up  presently  with  some  inarticulate  exclamation 
and  walked  away.  Davenant  let  him  go  without  a 
word. 

He  walked  on  restlessly.  It  was  a  warm,  still  night, 
but  he  shivered  nervously  as  he  flung  himself  down 
beside  the  river,  pressing  both  hands  before  his  face, 
with  a  resolute  effort  to  think  it  over  calmly  and  dis- 
passio%ately,  this  strange  revelation  he  had  heard. 

And,  To  begin  with,  what  truth  was  there  in  it  ?  At 
another  time  he  might  have  scoffed  at  the  very  idea, 
passing  it  over  as  the  idle  chatter  of  a  romantic  boy ; 
but  here,  to-night,  with  the  recollection  of  the  look  she 
had  given  him  still  vividly  before  him  —  no,  it  was  not 
all  a  jest!  —  with  a  sudden  curious  thrill  of  excitement. 
He  was  not  in  the  least  in  love  with  Constance  ?  No ! 
He  asked  himself  the  question  gravely,  and  the  answer 
was  still  the  same.  In  love  !  Why,  up  to  this  morning 
he  had  quite  forgotten  the  girl's  existence.  And  she 
had  been  a  child  when  he  had  known  her  before,  —  a 
mere  child  ;  and  then  to  suppose  that  she  would  have 
remembered  him  all  these  years  !  It  was  preposterous, 
—  looking  up  with  a  half-apologetic  smile  at  his  own 
folly. 

He  got  up,  humming  an  air  carelessly,  and  pacing  to 
and  fro  along  the  path  between  the  thin,  dark  trees. 

He  thrust  his  hand  in  his  pocket  and  took  out  his 
pipe.  A  quiet  smoke  would  set  him  all  right,  perhaps. 
He  was  nervous,  uneasy.  "  There  must  be  thunder  in 
the  air" — looking  about  him  curiously. 

The  starry  sky  overhead  was  clear,  and  bare  of  clouds. 
The  sleeping  city  lay  dark,  huddled,  and  silent  at  his 


ONE  SIDE   OF  THE   QUESTION.  249 

feet.  The  river  flowed  between  him  and  the  houses,  — 
flowed  noiseless  and  shadowy  between  the  ramparts  of 
its  banks.  There  was  nothing  stirring  in  these  wide, 
open  fields,  —  nothing  but  the  damp  river-wind  touching 
his  face  like  a  caress. 

He  let  his  hand  drop  irresolutely  to  his  side.  What 
did  this  boy  know  of  the  real  needs  of  men  and  women  ? 
"  This  world  and  life 's  too  big  to  pass  for  a  dream"  he 
muttered  to  himself,  passing  his  hand  impatiently  across 
his  face.  But  was  it  a  dream  ? 

All  day  long  he  seemed  to  have  been  under  the 
influence  of  some  inexplicable  emotion,  —  something  of 
too  impalpable  a  nature  to  be  grasped  and  throttled  and 
thrust  away ;  and  Davenant's  words  seemed  only  to 
have  given  the  phantom  form  and  substance,  and  yet  — 
it  was  absurd.  He  ought  not  to  think  of  it.  He  would 
not  think  of  it. 

He  sat  down  beside  the  bank  again,  and  looked 
moodily  at  the  water.  Well,  granted  the  worst ;  granted 
that  she  was  in  love  with  him  — unconsciously  in  love, 
had  Davenant  said?  —  what  then?  There  was  this 
Stuart  she  was  engaged  to  marry  —  a  pleasant,  manly 
fellow.  Davenant  abused  him,  to  be  sure  ;  but  then, 
what  did  that  signify  ?  Claude  was  full  of  these  odd 
dislikes.  A  man  whom  all  her  friends  approved  of ;  a 
good  match,  too,  he  believed,  —  trying  to  remember 
some  story  he  had  heard  about  Stuart's  father.  Yes,  a 
good  match,  and  madly  in  love  with  her,  —  that  was 
easy  enough  to  see.  A  suitable  marriage  in  every  way, 
his  reason  told  him.  And  as  for  Miss  Varley  —  well, 
granting  again  the  girl  had  had  some  other  fancy;  why, 
women  got  over  these  fancies  in  time  ;  they  got  over 
most  things  —  with  a  cold  smile. 

Ordinary  women,  yes  ;  but  Constance  ?  The  sweet, 
grave  face  rose  up  before  him  distinctly,  —  a  face  as 
loyal  and  simple  as  a  child's.  She  had  always  seemed 
to  him  the  most  absolutely  truthful  creature  he  had  ever 
known,  this  little  friend  of  his,  —  thinking  of  her  with 
a  touch  of  tenderness  as  of  a  child.  But  was  it  a  child's 


250  MIRAGE. 

face  that  had  looked  into  his  on  the  stairs  that^hight? 
In  that  one  brief  glance  he  seemed  to  have  read  all  the 
passion  of  surrender  of  a  human  soul.  He  thought  of 
it  now  with  a  certain  reticence,  with  a  sense  of  profana 
tion,  a  chivalric  respect  for  the  woman's  heart  she  had 
betrayed.  He  could  soon  turn  this  sentiment  into  love, 
if  he  liked  ;  he  could  do  that,  —  with  a  sudden  flash  of 
troubled  delight,  —  but  who  was  he  to  do  it?  The 
young,  noble  figure  seemed  to  his  imagination  like  one 
moving  apart,  looking  down  with  beautiful,  ignorant 
eyes  upon  the  turmoil  and  stain  of  life;  and  was  it  for 
him  to  bring  her  down  to  its  level  ?  And  then-  the 
thought  would  come  again  — he  did  not  love  her.  ;No  ; 
a  whole  world  of  dead  desires,  "  old  memories,  faiths  in 
firm  and  dead,"  seemed  lying  deep  between  him  and  the 
glance  of  those  tender,  wistful  eyes.  But  she  was  a 
good  girl  — very  good  :  poor  little  Constance  ! 

And  then,  for  the  first  time  in  years,  he  thought  long 
and  steadily  of  his  wife,  going  back  over  the  old  story 
with  grave  compassion  and  regret.  And,  good  God  ! 
how  little  he  had  missed  her !  He  thought  how  he  had 
seen  her  that  last  day,  full  of  eager  demands  and  fan 
cies, —  jealous,  poor  child,  of  his  very  mother's  love! 
Her  life  seemed  to  have  gone  out  suddenly,  —  a  mere 
pebble  tossed  into  the  sea,  gone  down  out  of  sight. 
Lawrence  was  not  what  is  technically  called  a  religious 
man  ;  but  he  had  something  of  the  soul,  something  of 
the  sensitive  imagination,  of  a  poet.  He  looked  up 
now  with  a  sudden  passionate  appeal  at  that  mute  and 
fatal  sky. 

The  after  years  came  back  to  him  in  that  strange,  un 
familiar  hush  before  the  dawn.  One  after  one  the  fruit 
less  years  came  back  with  question  of  their  use.  One 
after  one  the  years  of  his  early  youth  returned.  He 
saw  himself  again  a  boy  at  home  ;  a  young  man  facing 
life,  —  eager,  expectant,  self-reliant,  ready  to  answer  to 
any  call,  full  of  all  generous  enthusiasm  and  purpose  ; 
and  all  this  but  such  a  short  time  ago  !  And  how  could 
it  have  been  otherwise  ?  He  was  not  a  man  addicted 


ONE  SIDE   OF  THE   QUESTION.          251 

to  morbid  self-study,  —  the  very  inherent  logic  of  his 
French  blood  would  have  saved  him  from  that ;  but  to 
night  he  seemed,  as  never  before,  to  look  back  upon  his 
past  experience  as  on  an  inevitable  and  fatal  progress 
from  the  delight  of  desire  to  the  quiet  acceptance  of 
defeat.  For  these  were  things  which  were  over  for  him 
now. 

He  looked  the  fact  steadily  in  the  face,  —  saw  it  as 
any  other  practical  man  could  have  done,  unbiassed  by 
its  relation  to  himself.  It  was  over — looking  up 
gravely  —  and  Constance,  perhaps,  all  unconscious,  had 
saved  him  from  the  greatest  mistake  of  his  life.  A  ves 
tal  virgin  —  with  a  quiet  smile  at  Davenant's  fancy  —  a 
vestal  virgin,  rescuing  another's  existence  by  the  mere 
fact  of  her  own  serene  presence. 

He  got  up  from  his  place  and  walked  slowly  back  to 
where  he  had  left  Davenant.  The  lad  had  fallen  asleep 
by  the  river.  One  arm  was  thrown  back  under  his 
head,  and  his  pale,  large-featured  face  was  uncovered 
to  the  sky.  He  was  sleeping  as  quietly  as  a  tired  boy. 
Lawrence  did  not  awaken  him.  He  stood  looking  down 
at  him  a  moment,  listening  to  his  peaceful  breathing. 
How  many  other  fellows  he  had  seen  lying  just  so  on 
those  old  battle-fields  at  the  South  :  men  who  had  given 
their  lives  for  something,  while  he  — 

And  there  were  chances  for  him  yet,  —  yes,  chances. 
He  had  plenty  of  talent :  something  of  the  old  hunger 
for  work  coming  back  at  the  thought. 

He  sat  down  presently,  clasping  his  hands  behind  his 
head,  and  staring  up  above  him  at  the  paling  stars. 
Yes,  a  vestal.  Davenant  'was  right.  The  day  might 
come,  perhaps,  when  he  should  tell  her  of  it.  It  should 
come,  if  she  chose,  —  an  eager  smile  coming  over  his 
mouth  and  eyes.  If  she  chose.  And  if  not,  —  well, 
the  child's  life  would  not  have  been  disturbed  for  noth 
ing;  and  she  should  never  know.  There  should  never 
be  a  word  to  bring  a  look  of  trouble  into  that  grave, 
sweet,  innocent  face. 

The  brief  southern  night  had  been  waning  while  he 


252  MIRAGE. 

pondered.  Already  there  was  a  breath  of  morning  in 
the  blue-gray  air  about  him ;  the  sky  was  paling ;  the 
river  ran  more  blackly  across  the  open  fields,  with  here 
and  there  the  glitter  of  a  star  upon  its  rapid  current. 
In  the  last  few  minutes  the  light  had  been  creeping 
steadily  all  about  him.  The  trees  on  the  hillside  began 
to  detach  themselves  one  by  one  from  the  confused 
mass  of  their  fellows.  The  far-off  mountain  peaks 
were  growing  darker,  the  color  was  faintly  stealing  back 
across  the  meadows,  and  already  a  hint  of  yellow  light 
was  stirring  in  the  eastern  sky. 

The  wind  was  growing  chilly  with  the  dawn. 

"  Wake  up,  Davenant !  "  Lawrence  said  ;  "  you  fcan't 
sleep  here  any  longer,  old  fellow,"  bending  over  and 
touching  the  other's  arm. 

"  Hollo,  what 's  the  row  ?  "  said  Davenant,  springing 
to  his  feet. 

The  other  man  laughed. 

"  You  haven't  caught  cold,  my  boy?"  laying  his  hand 
kindly  on  the  lad's  shoulder. 

"  Why,  what  did  you  wake  me  for  ?  "  Davenant  asked, 
looking  about  him  with  a  bewildered  air.  "  Why,  Law 
rence,  the  morning  hasn't  come  ?  " 

And  Lawrence,  too,  looked  about  him  confidently. 

"  It  will  be  morning  soon,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER     XXI. 

THE   OTHER   SIDE. 

THE  next  morning,  at  about  eleven  o'clock,  Major 
Thayer's  dragoman,  Hassan,  was  quietly  sitting 
in  the  entrance  of  the  hotel,  smoking  a  nargileh.  He 
had  not  long  since  returned  from  the  bazaar,  whither  he 
had  accompanied  his  party,  leaving  them  safely  in  the 
hands  of  "  one  very  good  guide,"  when  a  stresst  of  im- 


THE   OTHER  SIDE.  253 

portant  business  absolutely  necessitated  his  departure  ; 
and  now,  as  he  sat  in  the  cool  and  quiet  courtyard, 
puffing  meditatively  at  his  pipe,  and  from  time  to  time 
consulting  the  rows  of  figures  in  his  private  account- 
book,  a  gentle  satisfaction  was  slowly  creeping  over  his 
anxious  and  weather-beaten  countenance  ;  he  looked 
with  benign  indifference  in  the  faces  of  the  passers-by. 

He  might  have  been  sitting  in  this  way  for  perhaps  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  when  a  sudden  and  unaccustomed 
sound  disturbed  the  dignified  silence  of  the  street,  and 
a  moment  after  a  cumbersome  travelling-carriage  rolled 
slowly  into  sight.  Hassan  looked  at  it  with  some 
attention. 

"  It  is  Mahmoud  the  son  of  Abdallah,  Mahmoud  of 
Beyrout,"  he  said  to  himself  presently,  as  the  equipage 
drew  near  enough  for  him  to  distinguish  the  features  of 
the  gaudily-dressed  individual  on  the  box  beside  the 
coachman ;  nor  did  the  old  man  move  or  look  up  again 
as  the  horses  drew  up  with  a  flourish  before  the  hotel- 
door.  -  ' 

The  new-comers  were  three  in  number  —  two  ladies, 
and  a  tall,  elderly  man  dressed  in  black  with  a  white 
scarf  about  his  hat,  who  got  out  first,  accepting  Mah- 
moud's  pro'ffered  help  with  a  certain  awkwardness,  and 
then  wavin'g  him  aside  and  turning  slowly  and  stiffly  to 
assist  the  ladies  out.  The  first  to  descend  was  a  small, 
active-looking  woman,  with  short,  high-kilted  skirts,  and 
a  girl's  hat  pushed  back  from  the  faded,  eager  face. 

"  Dear  me,  Edwin,  is  this  the  hotel  ?  "  she  demanded. 
"  Why,  I  thought  it  was  an  old  palace.  I  'm  sure  the 
guide-book  says  so.  Dear  me  !  And  is  this  man  smok 
ing,  the  landlord?  We  want  three  rooms  —  front  rooms 
—  and  a  salon  and  —  What,  not  the  landlord  ?  Where 
is  the  landlord,  then  ?  "  turning  sharply  to  Hassan. 

"  The  man  Mahmoud  attends  to  that,  my  dear,"  the 
tall  man  in  black  remarked  slowly. 

And  at  the  same  moment  the  lady  in  the  carriage 
looked  around.  "  My  dear  Mrs.  Card,  pray  do  not  give 
yourself  the  trouble.  Mahmoud  will  make  all  those 


254  MIRAGE. 

arrangements  for  me,  and  —  oh,  Mahmoud,  vouiez-vous 
prenez  —  the — ah,  the  basket,  you  know,"  pointing  to 
a  sHken  roll  upon  the  seat  before  her.  "  My  little  pet  is 
fast  asleep  still,"  patting  the  bundle  with  her  plump  and 
well-gloved  hand. 

But  by  this  time  the  news  of  the  arrival  had  spread  all 
over  the  house ;  the  turbaned  landlord  appeared,  bow 
ing  in  grave  welcome,  and  half-a-dozen  servants  began 
taking  out  the  various  rugs,  fur  cloaks,  and  cushions 
with  which  the  carriage  was  filled.  The  lady  followed 
last  of  all,  her  short,  fat  person  almost  disappearing 
under  the  voluminous  character  of  her  wraps. 

"  You  will  inquire  if  Major  Thayer  is  in  the  h»use, 
Mahmoud,"  she  said,  slipping  her  hand  under  Mrs. 
Card's  thin  arm. 

"  Yes,  my  lady." 

"  And  order  tea." 

"  Yes,  my  lady." 

"  And  —  ah,  yes  —  the  basket.  I  cannot  bear  to 
have  the  poor  darling  out  of  my  sight.  I  am  sure  that 
if  he  waked  he  would  miss  me,"  turning  with  a  com 
placent  smile  to  Mr.  Gard. 

"I  was  not  aware,"  that  gentlernan  began  slowly,  "  I 
was  not  previously  aware  that  the  animals  belonging  to 
this  species  —  " 

"  Beg  your  pardons,  gentleman,"  said  Hassan,  rising 
gravely,  "  but  I  think  you  ask  Major  Thayer  ?  The 
Major  my  gentleman." 

"  Ah,"  said  the  last  comer,  looking  at  him  with  some 
interest,  "you  are  Major  Thayer's  dragoman,  then. 
Very  curious  he  should  not  find  any  thing  more  useful 
for  you  to  do.  Go  at  once  and  tell  him  I  am  waiting 
for  him,  if.  you  please  :  Mrs.  Van  Ness  —  you  will  not 
forget  the  name." 

She  turned  and  mounted  the  stair,  still  leaning  upon 
Mrs.  Gard.  The  rooms  which  had  been  assigned  to  her 
were  in  the  front  of  the  house.  "  The  best  there  are,  I 
suppose?"  she  said,  looking  about  her  critically;  "it 
does  not  make  much  difference  for  a  day  or  two.  I 


THE   OTHER  SIDE.  255 

shall  not  remain  here  longer.  And  —  oh,  very  well, 
Mahmoud ;  put  the  basket  down  there,  in  the  sun. 
Excuse  me,  Mrs.  Gard,  but  if  you  would  not  mind  mov 
ing  —  I  am  sure  my  little  pet  will  enjoy  that  chair.  And 
—  Mahmoud  !  " 

"  My  lady  ?  " 

"Go,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Ness,  sinking  down  upon  the 
sofa,  "go  at  once,  at  once,  you  understand  —  and  find 
Major  Thayer.  And  tell  the  man  below  I  shall  not 
need  the  carriage." 

"Yes,  my  lady,"  said  Mahmoud,  bowing  and  shutting 
the  door  so  respectfully  and  noiselessly  behind  him  that 
Mrs.  Van  Ness  could  not  repress  an  approving  smile. 
"  That  poor  creature  quite  worships  me.  I  call  it  touch 
ing  to  see  that  kind  of  devotion  in  a  common  person," 
she  observed  languidly.  There  was  a  tacit  war  going 
on  between  Mrs.  Gard  and  the  dragoman.  She  looked 
up  grimly  now,  setting  her  pale,  coarse  lips  more  firmly 
together.  "  I  do  not  believe  it,"  she  said. 

Meanwhile  the  subject  of  these  remarks  was  passing 
with  the  utmost  deliberation  through  the  courtyard  where 
Hassan  was  still  smoking  in  the  shade,  and  talking  to 
the  driver. 

"  Well  ? "  said  the  latter,  looking  up  with  some 
anxiety. 

"  Oh,  you  had  better  wait,"-  remarked  the  younger 
dragoman  carelessly.  "  She  may  not  use  you,  but  she 
pays  all  the  same."  He  turned  to  Hassan.  "  Your 
beautiful  boy  is  well,  God  willing  ? "  with  a  grave  in 
clination  of  his  supple  and  sumptuously-clad  figure. 

"  My  son,"  said  the  old  man  slowly,  "is  well  ;  may 
God  avert  the  omen  !  He  will  be  better,  O  Mahmoud, 
when  thy  father  hath  repaid  me  for  those  stores." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence. 

"  My  father  is  an  old  man,"  said  Mahmoud  presently ; 
"  his  beard  is  white." 

"They  were  English  stores,"  said  Hassan  slowly, 
"potted  meats  and  pickles." 

"  The  season  has  been  bad." 


256  MIRAGE. 

"  Forty  bottles  of  pickles,"  said  Hassan,  looting"  at 
his  pipe,  "  and  the  preserved  meat  of  the  howadji." 

"  My  father  will  try  the  case  with  you,  for  know  that 
there  are  law-courts  in  Beyrout,  O  Hassan." 

"What!"  said  the  old  man,  with  a  sneer,  "has  the 
cadi  then  ceased  to  be  thine  uncle?" 

Mahmoud  did  not  seem  to  have  hqard  this  remark. 
He  drew  an  embroidered  pouch  from  his  belt,  and 
began  rolling  a  cigarette  between  his  dexterous  yellow 
fingers. 

They  smoked  for  several  moments  without  speaking. 

"  Do  your  howadji  stay  here  long  ? "  he  asked  fin-ally, 
a  conciliating  smile  creeping  over  his  insolent  ami  ser 
vile  face. 

"  God  knows." 

"  My  lady  is  a  great  American  princess.  The  money 
flies  from  her  hands  like  the  sand  before  the  wind.  But 
God  hath  visited  her  with  the  curse  of  the  English mati  : 
she  cannot  remain  still.  If,"  said  Mahmoud  suddenly, 
"  thy  howadji  remain,  she  too  will  tarry  in  Damascus  the 
blest ;  and  if  she  tarries  thou  shalt  be  paid,  O  Hassan, 
thy  just  debt,  yes,  and  something  over." 

Hassan  looked  up  :  "  The  debt  in  full  ?  " 

"  By  the  beard  of  the  prophet !  " 

The  old  man  took  off  his  fez  and  passed  his  hand 
through  his  venerable  gray  hair.  "  Mashallah.  In  the 
name  of  God,  so  be  it !  "  he  said  solemnly. 

It  was  nearly  twelve  o'clock  when  Constance  returned 
from  the  bazaar.  She  went  up  to  her  room  ;  the  door 
was  open,  and  Fanny  was  standing  before  the  mjrror, 
looking  at  herself  with  an  expression  of  deep  anxiety. 

"  Why,  what 's  the  matter,  dear  ? "  the  girl  asked, 
stopping  in  the  doorway. 

"  Constance,"  said  Mrs.  Thayer,  impressively,  "  Aunt 
Van  has  arrived." 

"Aunt  Van?  When?  Where  is  she?  I'll  go  and 
see  her." 

"  She  has  been  here  perhaps  an  hour,"  said  Fanny 
mournfully  ;  "  and  she  has  brought  a  clergyman  and  his 


THE   OTHER   SIDE.  257 

wife  with  her,  my  dear  —  people  she  picked  up  on  the 
way,  I  suppose  ;  and  she  has  got  a  tame  lizard  in  a 
basket ;  and  she  has  made  me  pull  this  hat  to  pieces, 
and  change  my  way  of  dressing  my  hair." 

Constance  laughed. 

"  Where  is  she  ?  You  make  Aunt  Van  twice  as  un 
reasonable  by  being  so  afraid  of  her,  Fanny.  Now  she 
never  does  those  things  to  me.  Poor  old  Auntie  !  " 

"  Poor  old  —  Well !  "  with  a  resigned  sigh,  "  she  is 
waiting  for  you,  you  know."  And  then,  as  Constance 
still  lingered  in  the  doorway,  "That  dress  becomes  you; 
you  are  looking  very  well  to-day,"  said  Fanny  thought 
fully.  And  indeed,  within  these  last  two  days,  the  girl's 
large  and  noble  beauty  had  seemed  to  awaken  into  new 
color  and  life,  blossoming  out  like  a  rose  that  feels  the 
stirring  of  the  summer  about  its  secret  and  folded  leaves. 
There  was  a  change  in  her  face  too  —  a  look  of  depen 
dence  ;  something  more  childish  and  yielding  in  the 
expression  of  the  proud-cut  mouth.  "  A  handsome  girl," 
Fanny  thought,  looking  after  her  critically  ;  "  a  little 
larger  than  I  like  to  see  a  woman  though,"  with  true 
American  distrust  of  flesh  and  blood. 

Mrs.  Gard,  too,  looked  curiously  and  attentively  at 
Constance  as  she  entered  her  aunt's  room.  Mrs.  Van 
Ness  had  all  the  garrulity  of  a  selfish  woman,  and  it  is 
probable  that  her  present  companion  knew  somewhat 
more  about  Miss  Varley's  private  affairs  than  that  young 
lady  ever  imagined.  She  came  in  now  with  rather  a 
pleased  look  upon  her  face. 

"  Well,  Aunt  Van  !  " 

Mrs.  Van  Ness  was  standing  beside  the  window. 
She  turned  and  embraced  her  niece  with  effusion,  with 
a  lingering  pressure  to  her  ample  bosom,  a  soft  rustle 
of  silks,  a  faint  scattering  of  familiar  perfume  on  the 
air,  which  carried  Constance  back  to  the  very  earliest 
associations  of  her  childhood. 

"  Ah,"  she  said  pressing  her  warm,  plump  hand  heav 
ily  upon  the  girl's  shoulder,  "  ah,  my  dear,  I  am  so  very 
glad  you  have  come  at  last.  It  seems  quite  romantic 

17 


258  MIRAGE. 


meeting  you  here.  Fanny  has  told -me  every  thing".  'I 
have  a  thousand  things  to  ask  you." 

Here  Mrs.  Gard  got  up  and  left  the  room. 

"  You  remember  her,  of  course  ?  The  clergyman's 
wife  at  Bellevue.  A  good  creature  and  perfectly  de 
voted  to  me.  She  cannot  bear  the  courier ;  and  if  you 
knew  the  trouble  I  have  between  the  two !  Why,  they 
are  both  as  jealous  about  me —  It's  quite  touching,  I 
assure  you,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Ness  languidly.  She  sank 
back  upon  the  sofa.  "  You  have  not  told  me  what  you 
think  of  my  lizard,  Constance." 

Miss  Varley  turned  and  looked  at  the  animal'  in 
question,  who  was  sunning  himself  complacently  Upon 
a  cushion  on  the  floor. 

"  It  seems  so  like  home  to  see  you  with  your  pets, 
Aunt  Van." 

"  He  is  such  a  romantic  little  darling,  I  could  not  live 
without  him.  I  am  quite  devoted  to  him.  Mahmoud 
got  him  for  me  this  morning  at  Beyrout.  He  nearly 
bit  Mr.  Card's  finger  off  on  the  way  down  here  ;  the 
poor,  dear  man  is  so  clumsy." 

"  I  don't  remember  Mr.  Gard,"  said  Constance. 

"  Why,  the  clergyman  at  Bellevue,  my  dear  ;  the  man 
who  had  sunstroke.  You  are  looking  very  well  yourself, 
Constance.  Come  here,  and  sit  by  me.  Fanny  has 
told  me  all  about  Mr.  Stuart,  you  know,"  said  Mrs. 
Van  Ness  suddenly.  "  I  know  old  Mr.  Stuart.  My 
dear  husband  used  to  bank  with  him  ;  and  I  congrat 
ulate  you,  my  dear,"  patting  her  niece  approvingly 
upon  the  shoulder. 

"Aunt  Van  —  " 

"  There,  my  dear,  there.  You  need  say  nothing  more 
about  it.  I  understand,"  said  the  little  lady  on  the  sofa, 
with  a  gracious  and  patronizing  air.  "It  is  true  that 
at  one  time  I  had  other  views  for  you,  Constance ;  but 
taking  every  thing  altogether  —  " 

"  This  is  really  too  absurd,"  said  the  girl,  getting  up 
impatiently  and  nearly  knocking  over  the  lizard.  "  My 
dear  Aunt  Van  —  " 


THE   OTHER  SIDE.  259 

"  My  dear  Constance,  there  is  not  the  slightest  use  in 
your  arguing  with  me  upon  the  subject.  I  will  not  for 
a  moment  imagine  that  my  niece  —  my  niece,  I  say  — 
could  have  given  any  young  man  the  encouragement 
you  have  given  Mr.  Stuart  without — " 

"  I  have  never  given  Mr.  Stuart  the  slightest  en 
couragement." 

"  Without  having  considered  all  the  consequences  ! 
A  young  woman  of  your  age,  Constance  —  " 

"  I  'm  only  one-and-twenty,  Aunt  Van." 

"  A  young  woman  of  one-and-twenty  is  a  responsible 
person,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Ness  severely,  while  the  lizard 
blinked  approvingly  from  his  cushion  in  the  sun.  And 
then,  and  with  an  increasing  coldness  of  manner,  she 
preceeded  to  ask  her  niece  a  few  questions.  Had  Con 
stance,  then,  absolutely  no  plans  or  intentions  for  the 
future  ?  had  she,  then,  no  idea  of  the  state  of  her  father's 
affairs  ? 

"  What  you  are  expecting  or  what  you  are  waiting  for 
I  confess  I  am  unable  to  understand.  You  are  of  age, 
and  I  might  wash  my  hands  of  your  affairs.  I  have 
not,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Ness,  pressing  her  perfumed  hand 
kerchief  against  her  pale  and  glittering  eyes,  "  I  have 
not  been  accustomed  to  much  confidence  from  you, 
Constance  ;  but  still,  as  your  only  near  relative,  as  an 
old  aunt  who  has  always  been  kind  to  you,  and  proud 
of  you,  and  —  " 

"  Dear  Aunt  Van,"  said  the  girl,  kneeling  down 
quickly  beside  her  and  trying  to  take  her  hand. 

"And  when  I  think,"  went  on  the  handkerchief, 
"  that  I  used  to  imagine  that  —  that  you  —  cared  for 
me  —  " 

"  You  know,"  said  Constance  earnestly,  "  that  I  am 
not  ungrateful." 

"Ah  —  gratitude  !" 

"If  there  is  any  thing  I  can  do  to  prove  it —  " 

The  handkerchief  dropped. 

"  Then  why  won't  you  marry  Mr.  Stuart  ?  "  demanded 
its  owner  briskly,  looking  sharply  at  her  niece. 


260  MIRAGE. 

The  girl's  face  flushed.  She  made  an  effort  t6*ris"e, 
but  the  jewelled  ringers  were  laid  upon  her  arm. 

"Poor  Jack!"  she  said  bitterly.  "I  don't  think  he 
would  thank  you  for  this,  Aunt  Van.  I  clon't  care  for 
him.  If  Fanny  has  told  you  every  thing,  perhaps  she 
has  not  forgotten  to  tell  you  that.  I  don't  love  him  ; 
I  —  Good  heavens  !  "  she  said  suddenly,  getting  up  to 
her  feet,  her  proud  lips  beginning  to  tremble  a  little 
as  she  spoke,  "  am  I  to  marry  a  man  simply  because 
he  is  a  good  match  —  because  he  has  money?  Other 
girls  —  I  —  " 

"  Other  girls  fall  in  love,  Constance.  I  presume  that 
is  what  you  mean,  although  I  must  say  I  had  not^ex- 
pected  to  hear  this  sort  of  objection  from  a  practical  and 
sensible  young  woman,  like  yourself,"  with  a  cutting 
little  laugh.  "  However,  so  be  it.  We  will  consider  it 
settled  that  you  are  waiting  for  some  young  man  who-  ~ 
you  can  —  love.  Excuse  me,  my  clear  ;  that  is  precise^ 
what  you  have  been  saying.  And  therefore,  as  you  will 
not  marry,  may  I  ask  what  you  intend  to  do  ?  You  are 
not  bad-looking,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Ness  calmly,  "and  I 
have  heard  that  people  consider  you  clever.  As  my 
niece  you  will  always  have  a  certain  entree  into  society, 
although  I  cannot  imagine  the  use  this  privilege  will  be 
to  you,  living  upon  a  secluded  country  farm  in  the  so 
ciety  of  a  parcel  of  children  and  your  step-mother.  It 
is  no  affair  of  mine,  my  dear.  You  are  old  enough  to 
decide  these  questions  for  yourself.  No  ;  excuse  me,  I 
am  not  angry.  Mrs.  Varley,  a  pcrpetuite,  is  perhaps 
hardly  the  companionship  I  should  have  chosen  for 
)'ou,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Ness,  shrugging  her  shoulders 
contemptuously;  "but  there  is  no  accounting  for  tastes 
in  this  world.  Be  kind  enough  to  ring  the  bell,  Con 
stance.  My  head  aches,"  pressing  two  jewelled  fingers 
languidly  against  her  forehead  •;  "  I  wish  to  order  tea." 

The  girl  put  out  her  hand  and  complied  with  the 
request  mechanically.  There  was  something  in  the 
warm  and  over-perfumed  atmosphere  of  the  room,  in 
the  familiar  tones  of  her  aunt's  voice,  in  the  very  look 


THE   OTHER  SIDE.  261 

of  her  cold  blue  eyes,  which  overpowered  Constance 
with  a  feeling  of  mental  lassitude  and  discouragement. 
All  the  hope  and  dream  of  the  last  few  days  seemed 
degraded  and  outraged  by  this  chilling  flood  of  com 
mon  sense.  Mrs.  Van  Ness  had  the  faculty  of  a 
prosaic  nature:  she  made  beautiful  things  seem  im 
possible. 

"  I  shall  not  say  any  thing  more  about  this  matter," 
she  went  on  now,  with  deliberation.  "You  are  quite 
mistaken  in  supposing  I  have  ever  urged  you  to  marry 
money.  It  is  the  commonest  thing  in  the  world,"  — 
pensively.  "  Look  at  Fanny  Thayer ;  look  at  half  the 
people  you  know.  Mr.  Lawrence  —  Fanny  tells  me  he 
spent  the  evening  with  you  yesterday." 

"Yes," — in  a  low  voice  after  a  slight  pause. 

Mrs.  Van  Ness  looked  keenly  at  her  niece. 

"  Mr.  Lawrence  is  a  case  in  point.  I  knew  his  wife, 
—  a  little,  thin  creature,  with  a  pretty  face,  —  a  cousin 
of  the  Edward  Poynter  who  married  —  But  what  was 
I  saying  ?  Ah,  yes,  about  your  friend  Mr.  Lawrence  ; 
he  married  his  wife  for  money,  notoriously.  His  own 
fortune  had  gone  with  the  war.  The  Lawrences'  for 
tunes  are  always  going  with  something." 

"  I  think,"  said  Constance,  suddenly  bending  over 
and  looking  at  the  lizard,  —  "•  I  think  that  Mr.  Lawrence 
was  very  fond  of  his  wife." 

"Has  he  told  you  so?  Nonsense,  my  dear  child. 
That  is  the  difference  between  a  man  and  a  woman," 
said  Mrs.  Van  Ness,  meditatively  ;  "the  longer  a  man 
is  married  the  more  apt  he  is  to  be  fond  of  his  wife, 
while  a  woman  —  " 

She  passed  her  handkerchief  across  her  lips. 

"  Hand  me  those  salts,  Constance.  My  dear  hus 
band  used  to  say  there  were  two  important  things  in 
life,  —  religion  and  money,  and  plenty  of  both.  The 
one  is,  I  trust,  within  the  reach  of  all  of  us,"  in  a  hasty 
voice;  "but  the  other,  the  other,  Constance,"  —  laying 
her  hand  impressively  upon  the  girl's  arm,  while  the 
lizard,  lifting  up  his  white  and  skinny  throat,  seemed 


262  MIRAGE. 

*V*^      **"" 

watching  her  with  grotesque  malice  from  his  sunny 
corner,  —  "  the  other  —  " 

The  door  opened. 

"  Oh,  Fanny  may  come  in.  Fanny  knows  all  about 
it.  We  were  speaking  of  Mr.  Stuart,  Fanny,  my  dear," 
said  Mrs.  Van  Ness  graciously,  "  and  we  should  be  glad 
to  hear  any  thing  —  " 

"Oh,  I  never  speak  on  the  subject,  thank  you.  Con 
stance  can  do  me  the  justice  to  say  /  have  never  tried 
to  force  her  confidence,"  said  Mrs.  Thayer,  gloomily. 

The  new  hat  was  less  becoming ;  Tom  had  told  her 
so,  and  she  was  deeply  aggrieved. 

"7"  am  not  capable  of  interfering  with  another  per 
son's  comfort,  or  of  saying  that  so-and-so  is  not  be 
coming  when  —  " 

"  Do  you  happen  to  know  if  the  tea  is  passable  in 
this  hotel  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Van  Ness,  looking  at  her  steadily. 
"  I  have  ordered  some  tea." 

For  the  last  few  minutes  Constance  had  been  stand 
ing  by  the  window.  She  leaned  forward  now,  a  smile 
breaking  over  her  face.  Her  eyes  brightened. 

"You  have  nothing  more  to  say,  Auntie?  Tom  is 
beckoning  me,"  pausing  an  instant  before  shutting  the 
door  behind  her. 

Mrs.  Van  Ness  and  Fanny  looked  at  each  other  with 
out  a  word.  The  younger  woman  sprang  up  and  hurried 
to  the  window. 

"  No,  there  is  only  Tom,"  she  said  in  a  puzzled  voice, 
and  as  though  answering  a  question.  "Oh,  and  Jack; 
I  see  poor  Jack,  —  and  that  Mr.  Lawrence.  Oh,  Aunt 
Van  !  " 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Mrs.  Van. 

"You  don't  think  Mr.  Lawrence  —  " 

"  I  wish  you  would  be  kind  enough  to  ring  that  bell 
again,  my  dear." 

Mrs.  Thayer  obeyed  in  mortified  silence.  But  silence 
was  not  Fanny's  strong  point.  "  Constance  is  so  pe 
culiar,"  she  began  again.  "  Do  you  know,  Aunt  Van,  1 
should  really  advise  you  —  " 


THE  BEGINNING    OF  THE  END.        263 

Can  you  imagine  General  Von  Moltke  listening  to  the 
critical  suggestions  of  a  young  militiaman  ? 

"  I  think,  my  dear,"  said  the  little  old  lady  very  dis 
tinctly,  "  that  this  is  a  matter  which  requires  tact.  Per 
haps  you  had  better  leave  it  entirely  to  me,  Fanny ;  it 
requires  tact." 

It  had  been  a  pleasant  morning  —  for  the  lizard. 


CHAPTER     XXII. 

THE    BEGINNING    OF    THE    END. 

THEY  were  all  standing  in  a  group  before  the  foun 
tain,  when  Constance  joined  them.  Lawrence 
noticed  she  was  looking  rather  pale. 

"  Yes,"  said  Davenant,  lifting  his  hat  automatically, 
"  that  is  one  of  the  strange  things  of  experience,  that  it 
can  be  shared  with  dumb  beings  who  evoke  a  thousand 
thoughts  and  fancies  which  endear  them  ;  just  as  there 
are  certain  people  one  may  meet  and  live  with  and  like, 
who  yet  remain  outside  of  all  the  sentiments  and  feel 
ings  that  have  been  quickened  by  a  common  life  with 
them.  Are  you  fond  of  animals,  Miss  Varley?" 

"  Davenant  means  that  we  are  going  to  see  the  last 
of  our  horses.  Hassan  sends  them  off  to  Jerusalem  to 
morrow,"  said  Jack. 

"  Hassan  tells  me  he  cannot  get  us  a  passage,  and  he 
is  afraid  we  may  have  to  wait  here  another  ten  days. 
Very  provoking,  but  not  his  fault.  He  is  dreadfully  cut 
up  about  it  though,  poor  old  fellow.  I  suppose  he  is 
afraid  we  will  think  he  has  not  managed  well,"  said  the 
Major  in  his  good-natured  fashion. 

"The  dragomen  —  my  experience  is  doubtless  limited 
—  but  the  dragomen  I  have  chanced  to  meet  have  by 
no  me'ans  seemed  to  me  to  justify  their  reputation  for 
extortion  or  double  dealing.  I  find  these  Syrians  a 


264  MIRAGE. 

simple  and  a  childlike  race  of  men,"  said  Mr.  Gard*hesi- 
tatingly.  He  took  off  his  hat  and  passed  his  hand  with 
a  weary  indecision  across  his  high  and  narrow  forehead. 

"  Your  head  aches,  Edwin.     Let  me  —  " 

"  No,  my  dear,  no,"  impatiently.  "  My  wife  is  per 
haps  unduly  anxious  since  my  accident;  a  very  Martha, 
troubled  about  many  things :  but  women  are  creatures 
of  extremes,  I  observe,"  with  an  apologetic  smile  to  the 
Major. 

And  through  all  this  sound  of  voices  the  water  dripped, 
the  fig-leaves  rustled  in  the  sunlight.  Overhead  loose 
masses  of  cloud  were  drifting  in  slow  procession  acr-oss 
a  blue  and  opaque  sky. 

"The  summer  is  coming,"  said  Constance,  smiling  as 
she  met  Lawrence's  glance.  She  bent  down  and  stroked 
Lione.  "  My  dog  has  made  friends  with  you  already, 
I  see,"  pulling  the  long,  silken  ears  slowly  through  her 
fingers. 

"  I  like  dogs,  you  know." 

"  I  remember,"  passing  her  hand  more  caressingly 
over  Lione's  head. 

"  I  think  these  creatures  should  be  kept  in  the  sta 
ble,"  said  Mrs.  Gard. 

"Ah,"  said  Davenant  mildly,  "you  don't  believe  in 
the  transmigration  of  souls  then,  I  suppose?" 

Mrs.  Gard  turned  sharply  and  looked  at  him,  her 
faded  face  flushing  a  dull  red.  "  Perhaps  this  gentle 
man  is  not  aware  —  I  am  a  clergyman's  wife,  Miss  Var- 
ley,"  with  a  nervous,  uncertain  laugh. 

"  Oh,  I  am  sure  Miss  Varley  agrees  with  me,"  dream 
ily;  "I  really  like  this  old  Egyptian  idea.  It  binds 
one  so  firmly  to  the  whole  mysterious  sequence  of  life, 
and  our  attachments  to  animals  grow  to  mean  so  much 
more  than  mere  habit  or  association.  Why,  take  a 
favorite  dog:  what  is  the  impression  he  leaves  upon  you 
in  his  absence  ?  One  remembers  a  look,  perhaps ;  for 
there  is  something  in  the  glance  of  an  animal  which  is 
like  the  glance  of  children, — a  look  from  a  world  out  of 
which  we  have  grown  and  yet  faintly  remember." 


THE  BEGINNING   OF   THE  END.         26$ 

"  Oh,  come  now,"  said  Stuart,  in  a  soothing  and  con 
ciliatory  tone,  "  a  horse  is  a  horse,  and  a  dog  is  a  dog, 
my  good  fellow." 

"  And  an  appointment  is  an  appointment,"  said  the 
Major,  taking  out  his  watch. 

The  trusty  Hassan  was  waiting  for  them  in  the  door 
way.  They  went  out  slowly,  Constance  and  Mr.  Law 
rence  passing  out  together,  —  together,  but  not  talking 
to  each  other,  as  Stuart  noticed  with  mingled  irritation 
and  relief.  He  remembered  afterwards  how  through  all 
the  idle  sauntering,  the  desultory  chatter  of  that  morn 
ing,  there  had  been  a  singular  persistence  of  observa 
tion  in  Lawrence's  attitude,  —  a  look  which  suggested 
a  question  piercing  through  all  the  careless  quietude  of 
his  manner.  Once,  as  they  were  standing  for  a  moment 
side  by  side,  "  You  are  going  away  before  long,  I  think 
you  said,"  Stuart  remarked  abruptly. 

The  other  man  nodded. 

"  When  ? " 

"  I  don't  know.     I  never  have  plans." 

"  A  precious  queer  way  of  travelling,  that,"  said  Jack 
impatiently. 

The  young  fellow  could  hardly  be  civil.  He  was  in  a 
rage  of  jealousy  and  angry  suspicion  ;  and  the  worst  of 
it  was  that  nobody  seemed  to  care,  or  be  aware  of  it, 
but  himself,  and,  perhaps,  Mrs.  Gard. 

The  eager-eyed  little  woman  looked  at  him  curiously 
once  or  twice  as  they  crossed  the  square  before  the 
hotel,  going  over  to  see  the  horses. 

It  was  a  picturesque  group  they  found  there :  a  dozen 
horses ;  a  little  company  of  muleteers,  fine,  hardy 
Syrians,  in  all  their  bravery  of  silken  scarfs  and  sashes 
and  yellow  slippers  fresh  from  the  bazaar. 

"  And  so  good-by  to  all  the  old  days,"  said  Stuart, 
looking  at  them  regretfully.  He  colored  a  moment 
after,  meeting  Mrs.  Card's  eye.  The  woman's  notice 
embarrassed  him.  He  turned  to  her  husband. 

The  Major  and  Mr.  Gard  were  discussing  the  politics 
of  their  country,  standing  with  perturbed  and  absorbed 


266  MIRAGE. 

"•w  «r- 

faces,  their  elderly  backs  turned  upon  the  world  at 
large,  deep  in  the  question  of  the  new  Army-Reductions 
Bill,  "  which,  as  a  minister  of  the  gospel,  I  cannot  but 
approve,"  Mr.  Card  was  proclaiming  sententiously. 

The  Major  shook  his  gray  old  head. 

"  The  country  is  going  to  the  dogs,  my  dear  sir." 

"  Let  it.  If  it  goes  in  the  name  of  Christianity,  that 
is  all  I  ask,  —  in  the  name  of  Christianity." 

"You  are  getting  over-excited,  Edwin  dear." 

"  I  say  let  it  go.  It  can't  do  better.  And  I  appeal 
to  you  as  an  army  man  to  answer  me  frankly,  '  Have  you, 
or  have  you  not,  gone  forth  to  meet  these  unfortunate 
Indian  brethren  of  ours  with  outstretched  hand  — »-'  " 

"  That  I  have,"  said  the  Major  with  a  grin. 

"  With  words  of  peace  upon  your  lips  —  " 

"Jack!" 

Mr.  Stuart  turned  his  head. 

"Shaitan  is  leaving,  Jack.  Won't  you  come  and  say 
good-by  to  the  poor  old  fellow  ?  "  asked  Constance  in 
her  clear,  girlish  voice. 

He  crossed  over  quickly  to  where  she  was  standing. 

"  You  had  forgotten  the  dear  old  horse,"  she  said 
reproachfully,  —  "the  horse  who  brought  me  into  Da 
mascus,"  reaching  up  her  hand  to  pat  its  glossy  neck. 

"  That  was  only  yesterday,"  answering  the  tone  rather 
than  the  words. 

"  Only  yesterday,"  she  repeated  softly,  with  a  slow, 
irrepressible  smile  which  hurt  him  as  nothing  else  could 
•have  done. 

He  turned  away  sharply. 

"You  are  ill,"  she  said  with  a  sudden  change  of 
manner,  catching  a  glimpse  of  his  pale,  averted  face. 

"No." 

The  frank  blue  eyes  watching  him  so  kindly  seemed 
to  trouble  him.  He  moved  abruptly. 

"  You  are  not  sorry  that  thing  is  over,"  he  said 
brusquely,  indicating  with  a  nod  the  train  of  horses 
and  attendants  before  them. 

Constance  hesitated. 


THE  BEGINNING   OF  THE  END.         267 

"  It  has  been  quite  perfect  in  its  way.  There  are 
things  —  I  shall  never  forget  some  of  the  days  we  spent 
together,"  the  color  deepening  a  little  on  her  cheek. 

Jack  looked  up  eagerly. 

"  Nor  I.  Do  you  remember  —  "  He  wanted  to  ask, 
"  Do  you  remember  that  day  at  Nablous  ? "  but  some 
thing  stopped  him.  "  Do  you  remember  Esdraelon  ?  " 
he  said. 

"  And  the  night  we  were  lost  ?  You  were  so  very 
kind  to  me  that  evening." 

"  And  our  meeting  Ferris.  It  was  a  close  shave  that 
time,  by  Jove  !  "  with  an  eager  laugh. 

Whatever  jealous  doubts  had  tormented  him  that 
day  were  forgotten  now  in  the  familiar  delight  of  her 
presence. 

He  drew  a  long  breath,  looking  about  him  with  a 
sudden  sense  of  pleasure.  "  One  feels  cramped  and 
restless  in  the  city.  I  could  not  sleep  last  night." 

"Last  night?  I  was  awake  too,"  said  Constance, 
smiling. 

"  I  meant  to  have  asked  you.  I  saw  the  light  in 
your  window.  See  here,  Constance,"  a  quick,  pleased 
look  coming  into  his  handsome  face-  "  I  have  an  idea. 
Can't  we  have  another  ride  together,  just  you  and  I  ? 
Say  we  go  to-morrow  ;  I  can  get  the  horses  —  " 

"Not  to-morrow.  Mr.  Lawrence  has  asked  me  to 
ride  with  him  to-morrow,"  she  said. 

Perhaps  it  was  just  as  well  that  Davenant  interfered. 
He  joined  them  now,  his  hat  pushed  back  a  little  from 
his  forehead,  a  look  of  quiet  pleasure  upon  his  mild  and 
abstracted  face. 

"  I  have  been  looking  at  those  horses,"  he  said, 
coming  up  to  where  Constance  was  standing;  "they 
are  wonderfully  like  women  —  delicate,  swift,  proud, 
affectionate." 

"  Affectionate  !  "  repeated  Stuart. 

"  Oh,  don't  bear  malice,  Jack.  I  'm  sure  Shaitan  was 
more  surprised  than  yourself  on  the  only  occasion  you 
ever  came  to  grief  together,"  carelessly. 


268  MIRAGE. 

*^*^       *"" 

"  A  horse  is  like  any  other  good  thing  in  this  life," 
said  Davenant  ;  "  you  must  be  alone  with  him  to  know 
him.  I  don't  boast  much  of  my  own  riding,"  with 
frank  simplicity ;  "  but  I  think,  after  watching  an  Arab 
going  over  these  Syrian  hills  at  full  speed,  one  gains 
quite  a  new  revelation  of  the  beauty  of  the  old  Centaur 
fable  —  the  doubled  existence  ;  the  keen  animal  enjoy 
ment  ;  the  appeal  to  all  the  higher  life  of  the  senses, 
and  dominion  over  Nature  in  her  hidden  places ;  the 
knowledge  of  the  silent  uplands  under  strange  constel 
lations,  and  secret  sea-washed  places  of  the  world." 

"Well,    I    don't   know,"    said    Lawrence   doubtfully; 
"  we  have  been  long  enough  trying  to  get  free  froin  ani- ' 
mal    conditions.     I  hardly   covet  going  back  to   them 
myself,  not  even  to  meet  my  ancestors." 

He  turned  to  Constance.  "  I  think  there  is  some 
plan  for  going  to  the  jewellers'  bazaar.  You  will  come  ? 
Mrs.  Gard  is  going,"  putting  out  his  hand  and  touching 
the  fan  that  hung  from  a  ribbon  at  her  waist.  He 
opened  and  shut  it  slowly.  "  Is  that  the  Japanese  fan 
for  which  Davenant  wrote  those  verses?  It's  a  good 
bit  of  color,  you  know,  with  that  gray  dress,"  looking  at 
her  with  a  smile.  .And  presently  there  was  a  general 
move  towards  the  bazaar.  It  was  a  delightful  May 
morning,  —  a  warm,  breezy  day,  full  of  delicate  sun 
shine  and  the  flicker  of  young  leaf-shadows  on  the 
ground  ;  and  the  girl's  happy  glance  wandered,  full  of  a 
still  content,  from  blossoming  earth  to  sky,  —  that  blue, 
stainless  sky  of  summer  she  had  never  yet  looked  on 
with  him  by  her  side  before.  For  it  had  been  in  winter, 
and  in  the  bleak  New  England  spring,  that  she  had 
known  Lawrence.  Listening  to  him,  walking  by  his 
side  through  this  warm  and  caressing  air,  seemed  a  new 
and  exquisite  refinement  of  delight. 

"  Where  were  you  a  year  ago  to-day  ? "  she  asked 
him  once,  after  a  long  silence. 

"  A  year  ago  ?  " 

"  Last  May.  I  was  at  home  "  —  a  vivid  picture  of 
the  old  place  rising  up  before  her.  There  was  a  certain 


THE  BEGINNING   OF  THE   END.          269 

hill  behind  the  house  there,  the  highest  point  for  miles 
around,  overlooking  a  wide  stretch  of  characterless 
landscape  —  a  confused  reach  of  low  meadow-land  and 
arid,  rock-strewn  pasturage  and  endless,  straggling  lines 
of  weather-beaten  fence.  And  there  was  a  road  wind 
ing  up  this  hill  ;  a  sunken,  sheltered  lane  where  the 
small,  brown  tree-buds  glistened  first  in  the  mild  March 
afternoons,  and  the  barberry  bushes  still  kept  a  few 
scarlet  clusters  long  after  the  first  snow.  Now,  as  she 
spoke,  the  vision  of  this  place  came  back  to  her  with 
the  recollection  of  all  the  evenings  she  had  waited  there 
to  see  the  sunset  cast  some  brief  interval  of  beauty 
about  this  joyless  New  England  world.  A  hundred 
familiar  memories  came  back  to  her — of  short  wintry 
afternoons,  dying  redly  above  a  mute  and  snow-stricken 
country  ;  of  warm  June  nights,  and  long  hours  full  of 
the  ineffable  melancholy  of  the  spring,  and  with  one 
thought,  one  longing,  running  through  them  all — and 
that  a  thought  of  Lawrence.  For  in  those  years  that 
were  past  now  —  past  —  Denis  Lawrence  had  grown  to 
mean  to  her  all  the  desirable,  the  precious,  the  ideal 
part  of  life.  It  said  something  for  this  man's  sincerity 
of  nature  that  even  now,  after  all  these  years  of  idealiza 
tion,  and  face  to  face  with  the  disenchanting  touch  of 
reality,  it  seemed  to  this  girl  the  one  good  thing  in  all 
her  life  to  remember  how  she  had  loved  him. 

The  silversmiths'  bazaar  was  vast  and  cool  and 
shadowy  ;  a  roofed  enclosure  divided  into  square,  raised 
compartments  by  countless,  narrow  passage-ways ;  a 
place  of  dim  light,  and  the  glow  of  furnaces,  and  the 
sound  of  metal  striking  metal.  They  wandered  on  from 
one  small  platform  to  another.  The  outer  sunshine 
streamed  in  through  the  small,  narrow  openings,  high 
up  between  the  lines  of  rude  stone  columns  supporting 
the  vaulted  roof — streamed  in  on  the  crouching,  and 
swaying,  and  prostrate  forms  of  the  workmen,  white- 
clad  and  blurred,  seen  through  the  curling  smoke,  —  the 
light  catching  here  and  there  on  some  pale  heap  of 
wrought  silver,  some  mass  of  glittering  coin,  or  quaint, 


2/0  MIRAGE. 

mysterious  amulet,  graven  with  strange  characters  'and 
set  about  with  dull  and  curious  stones. 

Constance  was  looking  at  a  collection  of  these  charms 
against  the  evil  eye  when  her  sleeve  slipped  back  a  little, 
and  the  keen  glance  of  the  native  workman  caught  the 
yellow  gleam  of  amber  about  her  wrist.  He  leaned  for 
ward  —  a  tall,  sinuous  Arab,  clad  in  dark-colored  robes, 
his  head  bound  about  with  fine  white  linen.  He  leaned 
forward,  and  looked  and  smiled. 

"  Taib  ?  " 

He  held  out  a  small,  fretted  band  of  gold  to  Con 
stance.  "  I  don't  understand,"  the  girl  said  quickly. 

"  I  think,  as  near  as  I  can  make  it  out,  he  wants  to* 
buy  your  beads,"  said  Lawrence.     "  See,  he  is  offering 
you  that  other  bracelet  in  exchange.     He  says  they  are 
very  good.     Would  you  mind  letting  him  look  at  them  ?  " 
putting  out  his  hand  to  take  the  string  of  amber. 

He  looked  at  it  a  moment  before  giving  it  back  to  her. 

"You  used  to  wear  that  when  I  first  knew  you,"  he 
said.  "  It  suits  you  —  that  amber,"  slipping  the  smooth 
yellow  balls  through  his  fingers.  "  I  remember  break 
ing  the  clasp  of  this  once." 

"You  had  it  mounted  for  me;  I  am  superstitious 
about  it,"  said  Constance.  "  I  have  worn  it  such  a  long 
while  now  —  as  a  charm." 

Lawrence  looked  at  it  curiously. 

"  It  is  getting  worn  thin  again.  Let  me  take  it ;  I 
can  have  it  put  in  order  for  you,"  fingering  the  beads 
with  a  certain  childish  pleasure. 

He  was  still  holding  them  in  his  hand  when  Stuart 
came  up  with  some  message. 

"  I  have  been  looking  for  you  everywhere,  Constance." 

"  I  have  been  sitting  here." 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Gard  wants  you.  They  are  going  to 
buy  perfumes,  and  Hassan  is  waiting,  and  —  You  have 
lost  your  beads,"  his  eye  resting  suddenly  upon  her 
bared  white  wrist. 

"Mr.  Lawrence  has  got  them  for  me." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Lawrence,"  repeated  Jack  slowly. 


THE  BEGINNING   OF  THE   END.          2/1 

He  was  not  a  man  to  notice  trifles.  He  was  singu 
larly  free  from  whims  and  fancies.  A  man  who  prided 
himself,  as  a  general  rule,  upon  the  cool  and  reliable 
quality  of  his  common  sense.  And  yet  it  required  an 
effort  now  for  him  to  keep  his  temper  —  an  effort  which 
made  him  clench  his  hand  and  brought  -the  blood 
mantling  to  his  face. 

"  Well,  come  when  you  are  ready,"  he  said,  with  an 
elaborate  assumption  of  indifference,  and  addressing 
himself  pointedly  to  Miss  Varley.  As  much  as  possible 
he  avoided  looking  at  her  companion. 

"  I  am  afraid  poor  Jack  must  be  ill  to-day,"  the  girl 
said,  glancing  after  him  anxiously. 

They  went  out  into  the  street  again  and  through  the 
small,  quiet  square  where  the  vendors  of  perfumes  as 
semble  —  old  men  for  the  most  part,  and  many  of  them 
Jews.  They  sat  down  on  the  carpet  before  a  shop  — 
a  dingy  array  of  shelves  and  dim  glass  bottles,  and  dry, 
glittering  piles  of  gums  and  heavy  lumps  of  incense. 
A  wrinkled  old  man,  with  a  long  white  beard  and  a 
curious  fur  cap  upon  his  head,  came  out  to  take  their 
orders.  He  served  them  reluctantly,  with  tremulous, 
yellow  hands  that  shook  as  he  held  the  precious  drugs 
up  against  the  light,  gloating  with  old,  covetous  eyes 
over  their  thick  and  enervating  odors. 

When  they  left  this  place  the  air  about  them  was  heavy 
with  escaping  perfume,  and  for  hours  (he  faint  scent 
clung  to  their  hands  and  the  folds  of  their  hair  and  dress. 

They  went  back  into  the  main  bazaar. 

"  I  should  like  to  have  another  look  at  that  old 
mosque,"  said  Mr.  Gard. 

They  paused  before  it,  watching  the  natives  pass 
through  the  cloistered  court  or  loiter  about  its  delicate 
trickling  fountain,  or  disappear  into  its  cool  and  sombre 
depths. 

"  Dear  me,"  said  Mrs.  Gard,  with  a  sigh,  "  when  one 
thinks  that  all  this  belonged  to  the  Christians  once ! 
And  now  to  see  it  in  the  hands  of  those  nasty  Arabs: 
people  without  a  religion  or  —  or  —  " 


2/2  MIRAGE. 

"  Or  morality,"  suggested  Mr.  Gard. 

"  Or  any  thing  else,"  added  his  wife. 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Davenant  seriously  ;  "  but  surely 
you  forget  their  rugs?  " 

"  Rugs  !  "  repeated  Mrs.  Gard. 

"  Well,  -Persian  carpets  then,  if  you  like  the  term 
better.  When  I  think  of  what  treasures  there  are  in 
that  building,  what  old  and  priceless  fabrics  from  what 
remote  and  forgotten  looms,  and  when  I  reflect  that  we 
are  even  debarred  from  entering  in  all  humility  to  gaze 
upon  this  lost  beauty,  it  justifies  in  my  mind  what  I  have 
always  considered  as  one  of  the  fatal  mistakes  of  the 
middle  age — I  refer,  of  course,  to  the  later  crusades.'' 

"Well,  I  never!"  said  Mrs.  Gard  blankly. 

She  looked  round  as  though  appealing  to  Stuart  for 
sympathy,  but  Stuart  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

Meantime  Mr.  Lawrence  was  speaking  to  Constance 
about  his  proposed  journey  to  Bagdad,  —  speaking  of  it 
rather  as  of  a  remote  possibility,  a  plan  of  the  past : 
"Apian  I  had  undertaken  half  out  of  desire  to  find 
myself  once  more  in  the  desert,  because  the  fascination 
of  vast  horizons  and  great  silence  was  still  about  me  ; 
and  half  perhaps  —  well,  to  get  rid  for  awhile  of  my 
own  personality.  I  have  been  growing  restless  here  of 
late  —  dissatisfied.  People  don't  understand,"  thrust 
ing  his  stick  into  the  ground  impatiently. 

"  You  are  dissatisfied  with  your  work,  perhaps,"  said 
Constance  doubtfully. 

"  My  work  !  "  he  laughed.  "  It  is  kind  of  you  to  call 
it  by  any  such  name,  Miss  Varley.  I  '11  tell  you  what  I 
wish  you  would  do,  though.  Come  and  see  it.  I  've  got 
rather  a  nice  place  here  in  old  Ahmed's  house.  You  re 
member  the  Armenian  I  pointed  out  to  you  yesterday  ?  " 

She  nodded. 

"Well,  I'm  staying  in  his  house  at  present.  A  jolly 
old  place.  I  wish  you  would  come  and  see  it.  Come 
to-morrow  with  Mrs.  Thayer." 

"  I  will  ask  her,"  looking  up  at  him  eagerly. 

They  had  come  in  sight  of  the  hotel  now.     "  I  wonder 


THE  BEGINNING   OF  THE  END.  273 

if  Jack  went  home  ; "  Constance  suggested.  It  troubled 
her,  in  the .  midst  of  her  own  exceeding  content,  to 
think  of  Stuart's  disappointment.  She  had  never  felt 
so  inclined  to  friendliness  towards  him  as  now,  when 
any  thing  but  friendliness  was  impossible.  All  the  gen 
erous  impulse  of  her  nature,  —  the  deep  tenderness 
born  of  a  hopeless  love,  and  going  out  with  quick  com 
passion  to  all  futile  and  hopeless  longing,  —  intensified 
and  vitalized  her  sympathy,  and  gave  her  a  feeling  of 
comradeship  with  Stuart.  As  she  said  to  herself  simply, 
she  was  very  sorry  for  Jack. 

They  came  upon  him  quite  unexpectedly  now,  stand 
ing  beside  the  fountain,  speaking  to  one  of  the  men 
staying  in  the  hotel.  He  looked  up  and  nodded  as 
they  passed. 

"  You  had  better  make  up  your  mind  to  do  it,"  his 
companion  was  saying.  "  You  '11  find  it  decidedly  pleas- 
anter  going  there  with  a  party,  and  the  other  men  —  " 
and  a  moment  after  Constance  heard  him  laugh. 

She  had  stopped  at  the  foot  of  the  staircase  to  say 
good-by  to  Lawrence. 

"We  shall  see  you  this  evening?  "  she  asked. 

"This  evening?"  he  hesitated.  "I  have  half  an  en 
gagement.  Yes,  I  will  come,"  looking  suddenly  into 
her  face.  "  I  must  make  interest  with  Mrs.  Van  Ness," 
smiling.  "  I  must  get  leave  to  take  you  out  riding 
to-morrow." 

He  lifted  his  hat  and  walked  quickly  away.  As  he 
passed  out  of  the  door,  Stuart  turned  and  looked  after 
him. 

"  I  seem  to  know  that  man  by  sight,"  his  companion 
observed  carelessly.  "Friend  of  yours,  isn't  he?" 

"  No,"  said  Stuart. 

He  excused  himself  a  moment  later.  "  I  must  speak 
to  that  lady  a  minute,"  looking  over  to  where  Constance 
was  standing  with  her  hand  on  Lione's  collar. 

"  All  right,"  said  the  stranger,  nodding  good-naturedly. 
"  You  can  always  find  me  again  if  you  make  up  your 
mind  to  join  us.     You  had  better  come,  I  think." 
18 


2/4  MIRAGE. 

"v*^  *"" 
Stuart  waited  until   he  had  left  the  courtyard.  "  He 

walked  over  deliberately  to  Constance.  "  I  should  like 
to  speak  to  you,"  he  said. 

"  To  speak  to  me  ?  "  The  girl  looked  up  wonderingly. 
"Why,  certainly,  Jack.  Is  there  any  thing  —  " 

"  I  should  like  to  speak  to  you  alone,  if  you  will 
kindly  step  into  the  parlor  with  me.  The  place  is 
quite  empty  at  this  time  of  day.  I  shall  only  detain 
you  a  moment." 

There  was  something  in  his  tone,  or  perhaps  in  the 
unusual  formality  of  his  manner,  which  touched  the 
girl's  pride  to  the  quick.  She  dropped  Lione's  bead, 
stood  up,  and  looked  the  young  man  steadily  iiv  the 
face. 

"As  you  like;  I  am  quite  ready,"  she  said. 


CHAPTER     XXIII. 

ANOTHER    STEP. 

AS  Stuart  had  said,  the  drawing-room  was  empty  :  a 
large,  vaulted  room,  built  for  coolness,  with  nar 
row,  darkened  windows,  and  a  brimming  marble  basin 
into  which  a  thread  of  glittering  water  fell  back  without 
ripple  or  sound.  As  in  all  Damascene  houses,  the 
room  was  divided  in  two  parts  by  a  raised  platform 
covered  with  Persian  carpets;  but  here  —  a  concession 
to  European  luxury  —  a  table  and  some  chairs  had 
been  added  to  the  furniture,  and  a  couple  of  large 
ostrich  eggs  swung  slowly  before  the  doorway,  sus 
pended  from  the  ceiling  by  a  string. 

A  broad  divan  of  leather  made  the  circuit  of  the 
room  against  the  wall.  Constance  crossed  over  and 
took  her  seat  upon  it,  in  the  farthest  corner.  Her  clog 
had  followed  her  in,  and  came  and  laid  down  at  her 
feet.  She  turned  her  head  a  little  and  glanced  from 
under  her  eyelids  at  Stuart.  She  drew  a  long  breath, 


ANOTHER   STEP.  2?$ 

and  pressed  her  gloved  hands  tightly  together.  She 
waited  for  him  to  begin. 

His  first  words  startled  her. 

"  Did  you  happen  to  notice  that  man  I  was  speaking 
to  out  there  a  moment  ago?"  indicating  the  courtyard 
with  a  nod. 

She  looked  up. 

"  I  saw  nothing  especial  about  him." 

"  No,"  with  a  short  laugh,  "  only  I  was  not  sure  that 
you  had  noticed  him.  I  'm  going  away  with  him.  I  'm 
going  to  Baalbeck  to-morrow." 

Constance  said  nothing. 

"  You  don't  ask  me  why  I  am  going  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  you  want  to  see  Baalbeck,"  she  answered, 
looking  straight  before  her.  She  would  have  given 
something  just  then  to  avoid  further  explanation. 

"  Oh,  that 's  it,  of  course,"  the  young  man  said  de 
fiantly. 

He  stood  where  he  was  for  several  minutes,  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground.  Through 
the  silence  he  could  hear  her  light,  hurried  breathing ; 
a  bee  flew  in  at  the  open  doorway  and  dashed  itself 
audibly  against  the  window-pane. 

"  Constance ! " 

His  whole  manner  had  changed  to  one  of  utmost 
gentleness.  He  sat  down  on  the  divan  beside  her,  and 
laid  his  hand  very  quietly  upon  hers. 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  going  away  on  your  account  ? " 
he  said. 

She  did  not  move  her  hand.  She  looked  at  him 
without  speaking.  Her  face  was  quite  pale. 

"  I  think,"  said  Stuart,  after  a  moment's  silence,  "I 
think  it  would  be  well  for  us  to  understand  each  other 
better.  I  think  — "  he  drew  himself  back  abruptly. 
"  You  have  believed  that  I  was  jealous  to-day." 

She  moved  uneasily  at  that. 

"  You  ask  me  —  questions  —  " 

"  T  was  jealous  ;  you  are  right,"  said  Stuart  quietly. 

He  waited  a  moment,  trying  to  collect  the  words. 


2/6  MIRAGE. 

"  I  said  we  ought  to  understand  each  other  belief," 
looking  at  her  gravely.  "  Until  we  came  here  I  thought, 
I  believed,  there  was  a — a  chance  of  your  caring  for 
me  in  time.  I  should  not  tell  you  this  now  if  it  did  not 
explain  —  I  'm  not  very  good  at  explanations,"  with  a 
faint  smile,  his  face  flushing  red. 

There  was  no  answer. 

"  Until  we  came  here,"  the  young  man  went  on  more 
rapidly,  "  I  had  always  that  hope  before  me.  I  thought 
that  in  time —  I  have  never  cared  for  any  one  as  I 
have  cared  for  you.  It  seems  to  me  now  that  I  must 
have  loved  you  from  the  first  day  I  ever  saw  you,  I 
don't  go  in  much  for  being  clever  myself  —  not^like 
those  other  fellows  —  but  I  know  enough  to  see  the 
difference.  I  could  admire  you.  To  be  sure  I  couldn't 
tell  it  to  you  in  German,  like  Lawrence." 

She  looked  up  quickly,  but  he  did  not  give  her  time 
to  speak. 

"  I  suppose  you  think  that  all  this  doesn't  make  much 
difference  ;  that  I  tried  to  get  up  a  flirtation  with  you  be 
cause  you  were  the  only,  girl  around  ;  and  the  conse 
quences  serve  me  right.  Fanny  told  me  as  much  as  that 
once  on  her  own  account.  I  didn't  take  the  trouble  to 
deny  it  to  her,  but  I  should  like  to  have  you  know  " — 
his  voice  grew  suddenly  husky ;  he  passed  his  hand 
impatiently  across  his  lips  —  "I  should  like  to  have  you 
believe  that  I  loved  you  as  well  as  any  man  can  love. 
That 's  what  I  wanted  to  say  to  you.  I  gave  you  every 
thing,"  getting  up  and  walking  hastily  to  the  door. 

He  stood  there  for  a  minute  or  two,  staring  out  at  the 
blinding  sunshine. 

Miss  Varley  had  not  moved.  There  was  a  brass 
plate  lying  on  the  table  before  her.  When  he  began 
speaking,  her  eyes  had  fastened  upon  this  unconsciously. 
She  sat  mechanically  tracing  the  arabesques  graven  up 
on  it  with  her  finger,  with  the  dull  persistence  of  a  fever- 
dream,  with  a  sickening  realization  of  the  cruelty  of  her 
silence  deepening  with  every  moment  that  passed. 

He  came  back  and  stood  before  her. 


ANOTHER  STEP. 


"  There  's  not  much  more  to  be  said  now  between  us. 
You  Ve  been  very  honest  with  me.  I  —  I  never  blamed 
you.  You  will  be  glad  to  remember  that,  only  —  Look 
here,  Constance,"  he  said,  with  sudden  passion,  and 
stooped  and  took  both  her  unresisting  hands  in  his, 
"  don't  think  I  want  to  worry  you.  Lots  of  fellows 
have  had  this  kind  of  trouble  ;  I  suppose  I  can  bear  it 
as  well  as  they.  But  there  is  one  thing  I  want  to  ask 
you  —  " 

"  Yes,  Jack." 

"You  do  care  for  me  a  little,  I  know;  or,  stop!  I 
don't  mean  that  ;  but  you  like  me  ?  You  won't  mind 
saying  that  ;  you  like  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  the  tears  gathering  slowly  in  her  eyes. 

"Then"  —  he  drew  a  long  breath  —  "isn't  there 
any  thing  I  can  clo,  any  thing?  I  'm  not  a  man  to  say 
what  I  don't  mean  ;  you  know  me  well  enough  for  that  : 
but  if  there  was  any  thing  about  myself  that  I  could  do 
or  change,"  watching  her  face  intently,  "I'd.  wait  any 
length  of  time." 

I  think  what  hurt  her  the  most  in  this  speech  was  the 
sense  of  its  utter  uselessness.  The  simple  loyalty  of 
this  girl's  nature  was  too  deeply  ingrained,  too  much  a 
part  of  all  her  daily  self,  to  leave  room  for  hesitation, 
much  less  doubt.  But  her  imagination  was  touched  by 
the  piteous  hopelessness  of  his  appeal.  She  lifted  her 
eyes  a  moment  and  then  looked  steadily  away,  her  face 
growing  white  and  rigid  and  expressionless.  She  was 
accustomed  to  be  very  honest  with  herself.  Deep  down 
—  below  all  the  passion  of  pity,  the  natural  womanly 
emotion  of  the  hour  —  she  was  aware  that  nothing 
stirred  responsive  to  his  voice;  that  she-  did  not  really 
suffer  ;  that  that  inmost  self  which  thrilled  with  infinite 
tenderness  at  Lawrence's  most  careless  word  was  dumb 
here  —  dumb  and  apathetic.  All  the  innate  honesty  of 
her  nature  held  her  wordless. 

"  If  there  is  any  thing  that  I  could  change,"  he  said. 

She  repeated  the  words  to  herself  blindly,  trying  to 
realize  their  significance  to  -him  as  a  man  might  wrench 


2/8  MIRAGE. 

a  paralyzed  limb  to  prove  to  himself  its  vitality.  Ttwas 
of  no  use.  Even  the  knowledge  of  his  daily,  hourly  care 
for  her,  the  unswerving  preoccupation  with  her  —  with 
her  who  had  not  even  an  honest  impulse  of  liking  *o 
give  in  return — even  this  could  not  make  her  feel. 

She  put  up  her  gloved  hand  to  her  lips ;  there  was  a 
faint  perfume  clinging  to  it  still  of  which  she  was  dis 
tinctly  conscious.  She  tried  to  speak,  and  the  horrible 
silence  lengthened  between  them  ;  and  she  knew,  with 
out  looking,  what  expression  of  desperate  hope  was 
dawning  in  the  eyes  fastened  upon  her  face. 

"  If  you  tell  me  to  stay,"  he  said,  "  nothing  more  than 
that  —  I  can  wait,"  with  a  curious  catching  of  his  breath. 

"Jack!" 

"  I  can  wait,"  getting  up  to  his  feet  with  sudden, 
uncontrollable  excitement.  "  I  won't  trouble  you,  don't 
fear.  You  are  not  bound  to  any  thing.  But  I  think 
you  '11  understand  some  day.  I  'm  not  afraid  to  leave 
my  life  in  your  hands,"  with  a  nervous  laugh. 

She  looked  up  without  speaking,  and  something  in  her 
face  checked  him  in  his  triumph  abruptly. 

He  hesitated  ;  his  hands  pressed  hard  upon  the  table 
which  stood  between  them.  The  room  was  very  still  ; 
the  fountain  glittered  silently  in  the  sunshine  ;  now  and 
then  a  warmer  gust  of  air  came  blowing  in  at  the  open 
door.  The  bee  was  still  beating  its  life  out  hopelessly 
against  the  window  ;  there  were  footsteps  crossing  the 
courtyard  ;  Lione  lifted  up  his  head  from  between  his 
paws  and  listened  with  ears  erect.  "  Sometimes  I  think 
it  would  be  a  relief  to  you  if  I  went  away,"  said  Stuart 
slowly. 
'  "  A  rdiefl  " 

If  this  were  only  the  story  of  Constance  Varley,  I 
think  it  would  have  finished  here.  I  believe  that  in  that 
moment  she  resisted  one  of  the  greatest  possible  tempta 
tions  to  insincerity  —  the  impulse  to  put  an  end,  at  any 
cost,  to  all  this  misery;  for  perhaps  the  most  betraying 
form  of  insincerity  consists  in  this  conscious  self-aban 
donment  to  temporary  high-pitched  impulse. 


ANOTHER  STEP.  279 

Her  lips  trembled  and  turned  pale  ;  he  could  see  her 
eyes  glistening  in  the  half-darkness ;  she  had  never 
seemed  so  beautiful  to  him,  so  desirable,  as  now. 

"  I  think  you  had  better  go,  dear  Jack,"  she  said. 

The  footsteps  in  the  couit  drew  nearer.  Lione 
scrambled  to  his  feet,  and  shook  himself  and  growled. 
It  was  Mr.  Gard  who  entered ;  he  came  in  with  his  hat 
in  his  hand,  with  a  deep-drawn  sigh  of  content.  "  For 
the  sun  is  growing  intolerably  hot,  I  assure  you.  You 
young  people  have  shown  your  discretion  in  selecting 
this  shady  place." 

No  one  answered  for  a  moment.  He  looked  at  them 
both,  not  curiously,  but  with  a  slow  and  mild  surprise. 

"  I  am  not  interrupting  you,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  I  was  only  explaining  my  future  plans  to  Miss 
Varley.  I  think  of  going  away  to-morrow,  Mr.  Gard. 
To  Baalbeck." 

"  But  not  for  a  lengthened  period,  I  presume  ?  " 

He  looked  at  Constance  before  answering.  "I  do 
not  know,"  he  said. 

Mr.  Gard  had  seated  himself  on  a  chair  beside  the 
table. 

"  I  find  it  difficult  to  use  those  lounges,"  with  a  grave 
smile  at  the  divan.  "  I  see  you  prefer  them,  Miss 
Varley.  And  what  is  this  —  a  recent  purchase,  per 
haps  ? "  taking  up  one  of  the  brass  plates  from  the 
table. 

"  No,"  said  Constance. 

"  I  thought  you  might  have  been  making  purchases  in 
the  bazaar.  They  have  certainly  a  peculiar  interest  of 
their  own,  these  brazen  vessels,  being,  one  can  imagine, 
fashioned  much  in  the  same  way  as  the  brazen  censers 
of  the  rebellious  children  of  Israel.  Have  you  any  idea 
of  the  probable  antiquity  of  these?  "  turning  the  platter 
curiously  between  his  long,  thin  hands. 

"  I  don't  know  any  thing  about  those  things,"  said 
Jack. 

"  Ah,  you  are  not  an  antiquarian,  I  see,  like  your 
friend  Mr.  Lawrence.  A  very  interesting  young  man,  I 


280  MIRAGE. 

found  him.  We  had  some  slight  conversation  together 
this  morning ;  I  thought  him  remarkably  well  in 
formed." 

"  I  believe  that  he  and  Davenant  know  all  about  old 
carpets  and  old  cracked  teacups  and  that  sort  of  thing. 
I  don't  go  in  for  that  kind  of  information  myself." 

"  I  confess  I  am  somewhat  of  the  same  frame  of 
mind,"  said  Mr.  Gard  slowly  ;  "  my  opportunities  for 
acquiring  such  tastes  have  been  few,"  speaking  with  a 
certain  regret.  "  In  my  time  this  diversity  of  pursuits 
was  hardly  expected  from  a  young  man.  We  were 
educated  on  a  somewhat  severer  method  ;  but  it  paid, 
sir,  it  paid.  We  worked  in  those  days,"  his  voice  gjow- 
ing  rapid  and  thin.  "  We  tried  without  ceasing.  There's 
a  new  set  of  men  come  in  since  then,  Mr.  Stuart.  They 
say  we  lack  scientific  training  and  all  that.  Maybe  it 's 
true.  I  don't  deny  it.  But  it  seems  hard  to  hear, 
when  a  man  has  worked  on  through  poverty  all  his  life, 
doing  his  duty  by  the  light  that  was  given  him.  I  am 
not  an  old  man,  sir  ;  there  is  work  in  me  yet,"  holding 
up  his  hand  with  an  unsteady  laugh. 

"Edwin!"  Mrs.  Gard  had  come  in  without  their 
hearing  her. 

She  went  and  stood  beside  her  husband's  chair, 
chafing  his  hand  between  her  own  roughened  fingers. 
"  Is  your  head  getting  bad  again,  dear?  I  thought  I 
heard  your  voice,"  turning  distrustfully  and  with  a  cer 
tain  defiant  anguish  from  Miss  Varley  to  Stuart. 

Mr.  Gard  looked  at  his  wife  doubtfully,  with  an 
excited,  reddened  face.  "I  —  I  was  only  speaking  to 
Mr.  Stuart,  Mary,"  pressing  his  other  hand  wearily  to 
his  forehead. 

"  Yes,  dear." 

"The  sun  would  give  any  one  a  headache  to-day," 
said  Constance  gently. 

"  Don't  you  think  you  had  better  come  with  me  and 
lie  down  a  little  while,  Edwin  ?  " 

He  rose  irresolutely.  "I  —  I  am  very  well  where  I 
am.  Let  me  pick  up  my  own  hat,  Mary.  I  desire  you 


ANOTHER  STEP,  28 1 

not  to  do  those  things  for  me,"  with  a  nervous  twitching 
of  his  careworn,  irritable  mouth. 

"  Very  well,  dear." 

She  looked  back  anxiously  at  the  other  two  from  the 
doorway ;  a  grotesque  little  woman,  ill-dressed  and  fussy 
and  commonplace,  but  with  something  about  her  which 
brought  the  tears  to  the  girl's  eyes.  "  I  believe  —  I 
believe  that  is  as  good  a  woman  as  ever  lived.  I  admire 
her,  I  respect  her,"  she  said  with  sudden  passion. 

"  What,  Mrs.  Card  ? "  asked  Stuart,  doubtfully. 

He  had  hardly  noticed  the  scene  which  had  taken 
place  before  him.  The  old  man  had  got  a  little  excited 
—  there  was  nothing  so  wonderful  in  that.  In  a  certain 
way  I  think  he  was  even  grateful  for  the  interruption. 
It  had  steadied  his  nerves.  He  was  an  obstinate  fellow 
in  his  own  way,  Stuart.  When  he  had  looked  at  a  thing 
long  enough  it  never  seemed  so  impossible.  And  back 
once  more  on  the  ordinary  level  of  life  he  felt  surer 
of  himself.  He  was  determined  to  profit  by  every 
opportunity. 

"I  believe,"  he  said  now  with  more  firmness,  "that 
it  is  Lawrence  and  Lawrence  alone  who  is  standing  be 
tween  us.  Stop  a  moment,  Constance"  —  as  the  girl 
made  some  sign  of  dissent  —  "hear  me  out.  You  can 
safely  leave  me  this  much  hope,  I  think.  It  won't  make 
much  difference  to  you,  and  to  me — it  would  be  some 
thing  to  remember,"  with  a  sudden  quiver  in  his  voice. 
He  took  her  gloved  hands  in  his,  and  held  them  tightly 
for  a  moment.  "  If  ever  I  know  that  he  —  that  you  are 
not  together,  I  shall  believe  that  there  is  still  a  chance 
for  me,  that 's  all."  He  dropped  her  hands  and  turned 
away,  and  then  came  back  and  stood  before  her  silently. 

"  I  think  you  will  find  that  I  don't  forget,  Constance." 

He  left  her  without  another  word. 


282  MIRAGE. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

IN   WHICH    MR.    LAWRENCE   READS   MERIMEE. 

LAWRENCE  had  gone  directly  home.  A  group  of 
models  were  waiting  before  the  door  of  his  studio: 
he  had  been  at  some  pains  to  induce  these  men  to  pose 
to  him,  but  now  he  sent  them  away  with  hardly  a:  mo 
ment's  hesitation ;  he  wished  to  be  alone.  Lilfce  all^ 
naturally  undemonstrative  men  gifted  with  quick  and 
mobile  sympathies,  the  continued  presence  of  a  crowd 
of  people  fatigued  his  nerves,  and  ended  by  throwing 
him  into  a  state  of  lassitude  and  profound  melancholy. 
Now,  as  he  opened  the  door,  the  cool  silence  of  his 
room  gave  him  a  sensation  of  positive  pleasure.  He 
looked  about  him  ;  every  thing  was  as  he  had  left  it  the 
day  before  ;  the  window  was  still  open,  the  same  locust 
was  chirping  from  time  to  time  among  the  fig-leaves  — 
the  only  sound,  except  the  rustling  of  some  loose  papers 
the  wind  had  scattered  on  the  floor. 

He  picked  up  one  of  these  papers  as  he  entered  ;  it 
was  a  letter  from  his  sister.  "  I  must  answer  this,"  he 
thought,  and  tossed  it  over  on  the  writing-table,  and 
threw  himself  down  on  his  divan. 

The  hot  glare  of  the  streets  seemed  still  before  him, 
in  confused  impressions  of  color  and  movement  and 
light.  He  pressed  his  hand  before  his  eyes ;  there  was 
another  face,  a  soft  and  harmonious  personality  which 
seemed  to  belong  more  fitly  to  this  moment  of  satisfac 
tion  and  repose.  There  was  a  sense  of  radiant  self- 
reliance  about  Constance  which  was  infinitely  attractive 
to  him.  He  thought  of  her  now  with  a  look  of  pleased 
recollection  on  his  face.  He  had  found  in  her  that 
most  fascinating  of  qualities  —  an  idealized  reflection 
of  himself.  "  She  is  just  about  where  /  was  two  or 


9      MR.   LAWRENCE  READS  MERIMEE.     283 

three  years  ago,"  he  thought.  He  was  charmed  by  the 
way  in  which  they  understood  each  other ;  being  with 
her  was  like  breathing  once  more  in  the  fresh  moral 
atmosphere  of  his  own  youth  ;  when  he  listened  to  her 
he  found  again  the  expression  of  his*  own  old  dreams 
and  desires,  untouched,  as  yet  —  very  eager,  and  un 
wearied  of  life.  What  had  attracted  him  was  shown  to 
him  again,  but  clad  with  a  new  expression,  and  instinct 
to  him  with  a  new  sense  of  beauty  and  fleetness  and 
loss  ;  but  he  no  more  imagined  that  he  had  a  part  in 
bringing  this  about  than  he  held  himself  responsible  for 
her  love  of  animals  or  her  taste  in  dress. 

There  had  been  two  or  three  trifling  incidents  in  their 
morning's  experience  together  which  came  back  now 
with  irritating  accuracy.  That  anxiety  about  Stuart, 
for  instance.  How  was  it  reconcilable  with  —  with  — 

"  Why,  I  might  as  well  be  Davenant,  and  be  done 
with  it,"  he  said  aloud  with  sudden  impatience.  He 
got  up  hastily,  crossed  the  room,  and  sat  down  before 
his  writing-desk,  with  the  gesture  of  a  man  who  has 
come  to  some  decision.  He  glanced  over  his  sister's 
letter,  took  a  piece  of  paper,  and  began  to  write. 

"DAMASCUS:   May,  187  — 
"  MY  DEAR  KATE, 

"  I  start  for  Bagdad  to-morrow.  I  have  not  the 
slightest  idea  how  long  —  " 

Rethrew  the  perr  down  with  some  muttered,  impa 
tient  exclamation  of  disgust.  Going  to  Bagdad?  The 
plan  was  an  absurdity.  Why,  there  were  lots  of  things 
to  do  in  Damascus.  These  people,  whose  presence  had 
disturbed  him,  would  be  gone  in  a  week  at  the  farthest, 
and  there  would  be  nothing  more  to  interrupt  his  work. 

"They  would  be  gone,"  —  with  a  feeling  of  the  same 
sudden  and  inexplicable  irritation. 

He  took  up  his  pen  again  and  fell  to  drawing  designs 
on  the  paper  cover  of  the  nearest  book.  It  happened 
to  be  a  volume  of  Me'rimee's  "Letters." 

Lawrence  had  long  ago  passed  that  stage  of  literary 


284  MIRAGE.  * 

development  which  exalts  into  genius  the  jadea  and 
careful  ennui  of  this  elaborate,  this  misanthropic  Pari 
sian  ;  but  the  book  had  the  charm  of  old  association 
for  him.  He  opened  it  now  at  random  ;  he  opened  it 
at  a  passage  in  which  Merimee  alludes  to  his  first  visit 
to  Italy:  — 

"When  I  left  Paris  I  felt  myself  on  the  verge  of  3. 
great  passion,"  he  says ;  "  but  I  reflected  upon  all  it 
would  cost  her,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  such  love  as 
I  had  to  offer  could  never  requite  her  sacrifice.  I  left 
Paris,  and  she  has  never  known  the  truth.  Elle  n'en 
sut  jamais  rien."  I  ' 

The  words  made  an  impression  upon  him.  There , 
was  something  in  the  idea  which  appealed  to  all  the 
refining,  and  perhaps  a  little  fantastic  chivalry  of  his 
nature.  "  Elle  n'en  stit  jamais  rien"  There  was  a  deli 
cacy  of  sentiment,  a  subtle  generosity,  about  the  feeling 
which  touched  his  imagination  with  a  foreshadowing  of 
silent  and  tender  regret.  After  all,  it  was  only  a  differ 
ent  version  of  his  resolve  of  the  night  before.  It  was 
Constance  who  should  decide  the  situation  ;  but  would 
she  ?  It  was  with  an  inexplicable  restlessness  and  im 
patience  he  waited  for  that  answer  to  come. 

He  was  still  sitting  befere  his  desk,  looking  vacantly 
out  at  the  narrow  strip  of  sky  above  the  barrier  of 
broad  fig-leaves,  spreading  green  and  fan-like  in  the 
windless  afternoon,  when  some  one  knocked  at  the 
studio  door. 

"Come  in!" 

It  was  Ahmed,  the  Armenian,  who  entered.  He 
came  forward  slowly,  with  measured  steps. 

"  The  long-expected  are  here,  O  Howadji." 

"  The  deuce  they  are  !  "  said  Lawrence.  He  got  up 
hastily.  "  When  do  you  start?  " 

Ahmed  stroked  his  beard  gravely.  It  might  be  to 
morrow  night.  Allah  was  great ;  it  might  not  be  till 
after  to-morrow.  If  the  howadji  still  intended  going — • 
with  a  penetrating  look  from  his  keen  old  eyes  —  it  was 
necessary^  to  be  ready  at  any  moment. 


MR.  LAWRENCE  READS  MERIMEE.       285 

"  The  desert  is  wide,  howadji." 

"  The  feet  of  thy  camels  are  swift,  O  Ahmed,"  the 
young  man  answered  absently. 

He  looked  down  at  the  open  book  before  him  :  "  Elle 
n'en  sut  jamais  rien." 

"  I  am  going  to  the  hotel  again  to-night,"  he  added 
slowly.  "  I  am  going  to  see  some  friends  there.  When 
I  return  you  shall  have  my  answer.  You  shall  have  my 
answer  before  I  sleep,  O  Ahmed." 

"  Mashallah  !  So  be  it,  in  the  name  of  God,"  the 
old  man  said. 

He  left  the  room  with  the  same  leisurely  dignity  of 
gesture,  and  Lawrence  was  once  more  alone. 

The  afternoon  Alight  was  failing  rapidly  ;  there  was  a 
grayish  tinge  now  creeping  over  the  fig-trees ;  the  sky, 
seen  through  them,  had  grown  cooler  in  tint,  and  the 
life  of  the  city  had  awakened.  He  could  catch  a  mur 
mur  of  voices,  the  sound  of  far-off  laughter,  and  the 
dull  thrumming  of  a  native  drum  marking  the  cadence 
of  a  song. 

The  noise  came  from  that  cafe  by  the  river  to  which 
he  had  taken  Constance.  He  would  go  there  now,  he 
thought ;  and  took  up  his  hat  and  threw  it  down  ir 
resolutely.  Some  bits  of  old  leather  and  stuff  were 
hanging  on  the  walls  ;  he  unfastened  two  or  three  of 
these  and  folded  them  together,  and  tossed  them  back 
in  a  heap  upon  the  floor.  It  was  useless  beginning  his 
preparations  for  departure  yet. 

But  Davenant,  coming  in  at  that  moment,  was  struck 
at  once  by  signs  of  displacement  and  change. 

"Hollo,"  he  said,  staring  round  him,  "why,  what  have 
you  been  doing?  You  're  not  going  away,  Lawrence?" 
He  sat  down  on  the  divan  and  pushed  his  hat  off  tys 
forehead.  "  How  long  is  it  since  you  have  been  at  the 
hotel  ? " 

"  Not  since  morning,"  carelessly.  "  Have  a  cigar, 
Claude  ?  " 

"  Ah,  then  you  can  know  nothing  about  it.  Thanks, 
no  :  I  won't  smoke." 


286  MIRAGE. 

"  Know  nothing  about  what?  Has  —  has  anything 
happened  at  the  hotel  ? " 

"  Well,  I  've  been  making  rather  a  fool  of  myself,  I 
think,"  said  Davenant  mildly.  He  looked  around  the 
room  again,  and  then  up  at  the  ceiling.  "  I  say,  Law 
rence,  have  you  got  any  money  to  spare  ? " 

Denis  nodded. 

"  Plenty.  How  much  do  you  want?"  getting  up  and 
going  over  to  his  trunk. 

"  I  'm  really  very  much  obliged  to  you,  old  fellow." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right.  You  startled  me,  though," 
taking  up  a  cigar  and  lighting  it ;  "I  thought  something 
might  have  happened  to  —  to  the  hotel."  '»• 

"  I  can  return  it  to  you  next  month,"  said  Davenant 
earnestly.  "  I  meant  to  have  sailed  for  home  directly  if 
you  could  not  let  me  have  it :  third  class." 

Lawrence  went  on  smoking  in  silence  a  few  minutes. 

"  I  won't  preach  ;  but  don't  get  into  worse  scrapes 
than  you  can  get  out  of,"  he  began  doubtfully. 

"  Oh,"  said  Davenant,  "  you  couldn't  have  helped 
doing  the  same  thing  yourself.  I  never  saw  one  like  it; 
five  hundred  years  old  at  the  least,  and  in  almost  per 
fect  preservation — " 

"  What?"  said  Lawrence,  laying  down  his  cigar. 

"  Five  hundred  at  least.  You  never  saw  any  thing 
more  exquisite.  I  happened  to  be  just  in  time  to  save 
it.  Mrs.  Van  Ness  —  you've  seen  her  —  Miss  Varley's 
aunt?" 

"Well?" 

'•  She  was  going  to  buy  it  and  have  the  work  trans 
ferred  to  some  new  piece  of  stuff,  —  absolutely  new, 
modern  stuff;  fancy  that !  " 

Lawrence  laughed. 

"  If  you  would  not  mind  telling  me  what  it  was,  to 
begin  with,  Davenant — " 

"  Well,"  said  Davenant,  reflectively,  "  I  should  call  it 
an  inspiration  —  a  poem  in  color.  I  can't  describe  it ; 
but  imagine  a  piece  of  frail,  blue-gray  silk,  thin  and 
silvery,  and  worn  and  very  old,  and  all  inwrought  with 


MR.  LA  WRENCE  READS  MERIMEE.      287 

strange  beasts  and  growing  plants ;  great  blossoms  in 
flat,  bright  tints,  intermingled  with  fantastic  arfhnal 
forms,  —  a  splendid  and  indeterminate  life.  And,  scat 
tered  all  through  it,  binding  the  work  together,  a  rain  of 
sweet  and  curious  flowers,  —  flowers  delicate  and  pre 
cise  in  form,  and  of  faint  color.  And  Mrs.  Van  Ness 
was  going  to  transfer  it  !  Upon  my  word,"  said  the 
young  man  earnestly,  "  she  made  me  feel  quite  ill." 

Lawrence  laughed  again. 

"You  haven't  seen  Ferris  lately?" 

"  He  was  round  at  the  consul's  this  morning,  getting 
letters.  I  asked  him  to  come  to  the  hotel,  but  he  said 
he  wouldn't.  Ferris  doesn't  care  much  for  women,  I 
think." 

"  Ferris,"  said  Lawrence  slowly,  "  is  one  of  the  best 
fellows  alive.  I  had  some  letters  this  morning  too," 
looking  over  at  his  table.  "  One  from  my  sister.  They 
are  both  married  now,  my  sisters.  I  wish  some  one 
would  found  a  society  for  the  selection  of  brothers-in- 
law." 

"  I  don't  object  to  mine  particularly,"  said  Davenant ; 
"  to  be  sure  I  don't  see  much  of  him.  Their  house  is 
pure  Elizabethan,  and  they  have  furnished  it  with 
Louis  Quinze  chairs  —  those  gilt  things  with  legs,  don't 
you  know.  I  'm  sorry,  for  I  was  very  fond  of  my 
sister." 

"  But  when  it 's  a  question  between  furniture  and 
family  affection  — "  said  Lawrence,  with  quiet  amuse 
ment. 

"  Oh,  of  course.  Still,  I  do  go  down  there  every 
autumn  for  a  few  days,  to  shoot.  Last  year  I  shot  the 
dog,"  he  added  mildly. 

They  stayed  there  talking  until  the  room  had  grown 
quite  dark,  and  then  went  out  to  dine  together.  Law 
rence  looked  back  as  he  was  closing  the  door. 

"  Forgotten  any  thing  ?  "  asked  his  companion,  pausing 
on  the  stairway. 

"  Nothing."  The  heavy  door  swung  to  behind  them 
with  a  crash. 


288  MIRAGE. 

"  I  shall  know  all  about  it,"  thought  Denis,  '^before 
I  offen  that  door  again." 

He  ran  lightly  down  the  steps  and  linked  his  arm  in 
Davenant's.  "  Come  on  and  find  Ferris.  Who  knows 
when  we  three  shall  dine  together  again  ?"  he  said  gaily. 
But  even  Ferris  noticed  that  he  was  not  like  himself 
that  night. 

The  hotel  parlor  seemed  already  full  of  people  and 
lights  when  they  entered  it.  There  was  quite  a  crowd 
about  Mrs.  Van  Ness  ;  the  floor  in  front  of  her  was 
strewn  with  old  rugs  and  stuffs  and  porcelains  and 
arms ;  and  an  almond-eyed  Syrian  and  a  wrinkled  old 
Jew  were  kneeling  on  the  platform,  placidly  unfolding 
yet  more  of  the  precious  things  of  the  East. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Lawrence  "— she  looked"  up  graciously, 
holding  up  a  fat  and  jewelled  hand — "you  are  the  very 
person  I  wanted  to  see  ;  your  fine  artistic  taste,  you 
know.  And  isn't  this  too  enchanting ;  quite  romantic 
—  all  these  beautiful  embroideries  and  things?  " 

"  Have  you  been  getting  many  of  them  ? "  said 
Lawrence. 

The  old  Jew  had  looked  up  with  grave  alarm  at  the 
young  man's  appearance,  and  had  begun  hurriedly  roll 
ing  some  silken  stuff  together. 

"I  know  that  old  fellow — the  greatest  old  cheat  in 
Damascus,"  Denis  commented  carelessly. 

"Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Ness,  "but  my  dragoman, 
Mahmoud,  sent  for  him  for  me  as  a  special  favor ;  he 
always  sends  his  assistant  to  sell  his  things  unless  to 
persons  of  very  great  consequence.  Such  a  romantic 
idea !  I  really  think  you  must  be  mistaken,  Mr.  Law 
rence,  for  Mahmoud  is  perfectly  devoted  to  me.  He 
never  would  allow  any  thing  of  that  kind,  I  assure 
you." 

"  I  see,"  said  Lawrence  shortly. 

Miss  Varley  had  looked  up  and  bowed  gravely  as  he 
came  in.  She  was  sitting  a  little  away  from  the  others, 
and  nearer  the  window,  working.  Half  the  length  of 
the  room  was  between  them,  and  he  was  conscious  of 


MR.  LA  WRENCE  READS  MERIMEE.       289 

her  slightest  movement.  He  was  still  standing  by  Mrs. 
Van  Ness,  looking  down  at  a  piece  of  linen  she  was 
showing  him  ;  but  he  knew  when  Stuart  went  over  to 
speak  to  the  girl. 

"  Oh,  Persian,  I  should  say ;  Persian  decidedly,"  he 
said  aloud. 

He  could  have  given  no  name  to  this  vague  and 
potent  feeling  which  was  gradually  taking  possession 
of  all  his  being;  he  did  not  wish  to  name  it.  Only 
he  was  conscious  of  some  subtle  and  uneasy  delight 
which  seemed  to  creep  between  him  and  the  outer 
world.  It  is,  perhaps,  with  some  such  unresisting 
pleasure  that  the  trees  in  the  orchards  feel  the  rose- 
white  promise  of  their  blossoms  burst  from  the  barren 
branches  at  the  warm,  compelling  touch  of  spring. 

He  had,  in  reality,  been  but  a  very  few  minutes  in 
the  room  before  he  went  over  to  where  Constance  was 
sitting.  He  stood  leaning  against  the  wall,  his  hand 
on  the  back  of  a  chair,  looking  down  at  her  moving 
fingers.  It  was  a  work  belonging  to  Mrs.  Van  Ness 
over  which  the  girl  was  busy,  but  he  could  not  know 
this,  and  something  in  her  constrained  attitude  and 
bent  head  annoyed  him.  He  was  a  man  full  of  fan 
cies.  There  seemed  to  him  something  ominous  in 
her  silence  to-night. 

The  swift,  white  fingers  trembled  a  little  as  he 
watched  them.  She  looked  up. 

"  You  have  seen  Mr.  Stuart  ? " 

"  Not  to  speak  to." 

"I  think  he  was  looking  for  you,"  said  Constance. 
She  bent  her  face  over  her  work.  "  Jack  is  going  away 
to-morrow,"  turning  to  him  naturally,  with  a  sudden 
passionate  craving  for  understanding  and  sympathy. 

He  did  not  answer.  She  glanced  at  him  again  a 
moment  later,  thinking  he  had  not  heard.  He  was 
looking  out  at  the  moonlight  in  the  courtyard  with  the 
expression  of  a  man  whose  thoughts  were  miles  away. 
Her  eyes  fell  again  with  a  feeling  of  baffled  expectation. 
She  had  thought  all  day  of  this  moment,  and  now  it 


2QO  MIRAGE, 


seemed  that  he  did  not  care  to  speak  or  listen!! 
kept  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  sewing.  "  You  are  indus 
trious  to-night,"  said  Fanny,  passing.  Constance  had 
lost  all  that  fine  color;  she  was  looking  quite  pale  and 
insignificant,  Mrs.  Thayer  thought. 

"  Mr.  Lawrence  !  " 

Mrs.  Van  Ness  had  crossed  the  room  slowly,  with  a 
rustle  of  silk  and  a  dropping  of  shawls  and  a  scatter 
ing  of  faint  perfume  on  the  air.  "  I  want  to  speak  to 
you  ;  and  you  have  not  seen  my  lizard,"  she  said.  The 
young  man  followed  her  reluctantly  to  a  sofa  beside 
the  door. 

"Sit  down;"  she  pushed  away  some  pillows,  ,and 
made  a  place  for  him  by  her  side.  "  I  really  have  a 
great  many  things  to  talk  to  you  about.  My  lizard  is 
upstairs.  He  has  bitten  Mr.  Gard  twice  already,"  with 
languid  amusement;  "but  some  people  are  so  clumsy, 
you  know.  He  is  the  most  affectionate  little  creature 
in  reality  —  " 

"  Mr.  Gard  is  ?  " 

Mrs.  Van  Ness  laughed.  "  Poor  Mr.  Gard.  He  is 
our  old  clergyman,  you  know.  At  least  my  dear  hus 
band  used  to  go  and  hear  him  ;  I  never  went  to  that 
church.  And  entre  nous,  you  know,"  tapping  Law 
rence's  arm  confidentially,  "the  poor  old  man  is  really 
quite  —  "  she  shrugged  her  shoulders  significantly.  "  He 
has  been  passe  de  mode  for  years  ;  an  excellent  man,  but 
such  a  very  dull  preacher,  and  so  shockingly  poor  !  He 
had  sunstroke  last  year,  and  his  wife  says  that  is  the 
reason  he  resigned  his  parish  ;  but  the  fact  is,"  looking 
cautiously  about  her,  and  lowering  her  voice  mysteri 
ously,  "they  would  have  got  rid  of  him  anyway  —  I 
know  it.  They  had  found  a  younger  man  to  take  his 
place,  and  really  a  young  clergyman  is  so  much  more 
popular,  you  know.  My  dear  husband  always  said  it 
would  make  a  difference  of  fifty  per  cent,  in  the  pew 
rents  when  Mr.  Gard  was  gone." 

"  Pleasant  for  him,  poor  devil  !  "  said  Lawrence  com 
passionately. 


MR.  LAWRENCE  READS  MERIMEE.       291 

"  Oh,  you  are  a  Roman  Catholic,  Mr.  Lawrence  ;  you 
don't  understand  these  things.  His  old  congregation 
behaved  quite  handsomely,  you  know  ;  they  gave  him 
a  silver  teapot  with  an  inscription.  To  be  sure,  he 
could  not  live  on  that,"  with  a  deprecating  smile.  "  He 
had  got  some  employment  as  a  book-agent,  when  I 
brought  him  and  his  wife  abroad.  I  'm  very  fond  of 
helping  people  ;  I  like  gratitude,"  folding  her*  luxurious 
drapery  about  herself  complacently. 

"Gratitude?"  repeated  Lawrence  absently,  "that  pre 
supposes  a  most  generous  nature.  My  mother  used  to 
be  fond  of  poor  people  —  " 

"  I  knew  your  mother ;  a  beautiful  girl  she  was,  and 
very  shy.  I  met  her  once  at  a  reception  at  Judge 
Poynter's  —  the  Member  of  Congress,  I  mean." 

"  I  know,"  said  Lawrence. 

"  Ah,  of  course,"  with  a  recollecting  smile,  "of  course. 
He  's  a  connection  of  yours,  I  remember,  by  marriage. 
Well,  what  was  I  saying?  ah,  yes.  Your  mother.  I 
wanted  to  bring  her  out  a  little  ;  I  tried  to  give  her  a 
dinner  ;  but  there  was  something  the  matter  with  you 
—  you  had  some  ridiculous  cold  or  other  —  and  she 
would  not  come.  Your  father  came  without  her.  You 
are  not  like  your  father,"  turning  to  look  at  the  young 
man  with  a  critical  glance. 

"  I  remember  your  wife  too,"  she  said  a  moment  after, 
"a  little —  Hm  !  "  calling  herself  to  order  abruptly. 
"  I  remember  everybody,  you  see,  Mr.  Lawrence." 

But  Lawrence  was  silent.  There  was  something  which 
troubled  him  in  this  sudden  evoking  of  dead  faces  out 
of  the  past  at  this  moment,  and  when  he  most  desired 
to  hold  his  life,  plastic  and  unshackled,  in  his  grasp. 

"  You  must  come  and  dine  with  me  when  we  all  get 
back  to  New  York  again.  You  are  going  back  soon, 
I  suppose  ? " 

"I?"  said  Denis,  looking  up  with  a  start;  "how 
can  I  tell?" 

"  I  '11  give  you  a  dinner  if  you  will  let  me  know  when 
you  arrive,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Ness  blandly.  "  A  little 


2Q2  MIRAGE. 

dinner.  I  have  never  had  more  than  eight  peopte  at 
once  at  my  table  since  my  dear  husband  died.  Eight 
has  been  my  limit,"  laying  her  hand  impressively  upon 
the  young  man's  arm.  "  Eight,  ever  since." 

Mrs.  Thayer  had  been  watching  this  long  conference 
with  some  uneasiness.  She  passed  them  now ;  looked 
out  at  the  clear,  moonlit  sky  for  a  minute.  "Jack 
will  have*  a  lovely  day  for  starting  to-morrow,"  she 
said. 

"  Is  Mr.  Stuart  going?"  asked  Davenant.  He  began 
to  speak  of  his  own  departure.  "  I  feel  like  a  man 
who  has  been  on  a  spree,"  he  said  :  "  this  sumptupus 
life  of  the  East,  this  splendid  use  of  color  and  material, 
has  given  me  an  excess  of  sensation.  These  rugs  and 
scarfs,  and  all  this  wrought  metal  and  worked  linen 
and  incense,  amongst  which  these  placid  Orientals  bask 
—  as  unconscious  of  its  significance  as  the  insect  of  the 
color  of  its  glittering  wings  —  excite  me  still  ;  but  they 
no  longer  satisfy  me ;  and  I  turn  back  instinctively  to 
that  Europe  over  which  arose  those  two  stars  of  the 
material  and  the  spiritual  life  —  the  Venus  of  the 
Greeks  and  the  Virgin  of  the  Italians." 

"  Deaf  me.  Do  you  suppose  he  means  the  Virgin 
Mary  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Gard  in  a  horrified  whisper  to 
Constance. 

"Yes,"  said  Davenant,  turning  to  her  in  all  sim 
plicity,  "  that  is  what  I  mean.  The  worship  of  Venus 
is  homage  to  the  supreme  beauty  in  woman  ;  the  wor 
ship  of  the  Virgin  is  homage  to  her  most  sacred  form 
of  suffering  —  the  two  ideas  which  form  and  resume 
all  the  world  of  art  and  literature,  and  without  which 
our  life  would  be  that  of  the  Oriental  —  a  sumptuous 
and  wordless  and  sterile  thing." 

"  Oh,"  said  the  old  Major,  with  his  dry  smile,  "  you 
forget 

A  Persian's  heaven  is  easily  made, — 
'Tis  but  black  eyes  and  lemonade. 

A  rare  old  song  we  used  to  think  that,  in  the  days  when 
I  was  young.  You  boys  don't  read  Tom  Moore." 


MR.  LA  WRENCE  READS  MERIMEE.       293 

"  I  should  hope  not,  indeed,"  said  Fanny,  with  a  toss 
of  her  head.  She  had  no  particular  opinion  about 
Moore,  but  any  allusion  to  the  Major's  youth  inspired 
her  with  a  vague  feeling  of  resentment. 

Where  Fanny  was,  the  conversation  was  apt  to  grow 
personal.  In  a  few  minutes  they  were  all  discussing 
the  details  of  a  recent  social  scandal,  with  whose  prin 
cipal  actors  they  were  all  more  or  less  acquainted. 
"  And  I  must  say  I  should  like  to  know  what  made  her 
do  it,"  Fanny  concluded  candidly  ;  "  and  unfortunately 
that  is  the  one  point  one  can  never  hope  to  understand." 

"  I  think  I  can  understand  it,"  said  Constance  quietly. 
She  hesitated  and  looked  out  at  the  splashing  fountain 
in  the  moonlight.  "  There  are  some  appeals  a  man  has 
no  right  to  make,"  she  said  with  sudden  passion. 

Mr.  Lawrence  looked  up  quickly.  "You  would  have 
had  him  keep  silence  then  ?  " 

"  If  I  had  been  in  his  place,"  said  Constance  proudly, 
"  I  would  have  kept  silent  though  I  had  died." 

They  went  out  into  the  courtyard  together.  It  was  a 
pale,  blue-gray  night.  There  was  not  a  breath  of  wind 
stirring  ;  the  very  shadows  thrown  by  the  young  moon 
were  motionless  and  half  transparent ;  and  the  moon 
itself  was  reflected,  a  thin  and  yellow  disc,  in  the  smooth 
surface  of  the  brimming  pool. 

Lawrence  lingered  a  little  behind  the  others.  "  I 
want  to  speak  to  you  a  moment,"  he  said,  and  stood 
there  irresolute,  dipping  his  fingers  in  the  tepid  water, 
and  breaking  the  placid  reflection  into  wide  gleaming 
circles  of  light.  A  mad  impulse  to  tell  her  every  thing 
was  on  him,  and  still  his  lips  were  sealed  by  what  he 
believed  to  have  been  her  instinctive  protest  against  lis 
tening  to  his  speech.  "  I  want  to  ask  you  —  "  he  began 
again  and  hesitated. 

•  "  Yes  ?  " 

The  branches  stirring  a  little  overhead,  the  moonlight 
shone  down  full  upon  the  pure  and  sensitive  face  —  a 
child's  face  it  seemed  to  him,  and  troubled  with  a  child's 
dim  apprehension  of  pain. 


294  MIRAGE. 

One  moment  he  stood  irresolute.  Then  he  looked^  up 
quietly.  "  I  have  tgld  your  aunt  I  was  coming  for  you 
to-morrow.  You  will  like  the  horse  I  have  got  for  you, 
Miss  Varley  —  a  very  spirited  creature  ;  but  he  has  been 
ridden  by  a  lady  before."  His  tone  was  the  same  that 
he  would  have  used  to  a  mere  acquaintance.  And  yet, 
as  he  turned  by  the  doorway  to  bid  her  good-night,  there 
was  something  in  his  manner  which  made  her  put  out 
her  hand  involuntarily,  and  speak. 

"  There  is  something  the  matter,  Mr.  Lawrence.  I  — 
I  have  been  wanting  to  ask  you  all  the  evening."  She 
pressed  her  hands  together  nervously.  "You  are 'in 
trouble,  or  something  has  happened  since  I  saw  you  this 
morning.  You  have  been  doing  something —  " 

"  I,"  said  Lawrence,  looking  at  her  steadily,  "  I  have 
been  reading  Meriinee."  He  took  her  hand  in  his, 
and  held  it  for  a  moment.  "  Good-by,"  he  said  slowly. 

"  Good-by." 

He  looked  up  smiling.  "  You  mean  it  is  only  good 
night  ? " 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

ANOTHER    LIFE. 

CONSTANCE  was  in  her  own  room  the  next  morn 
ing,  when  Mrs.  Gard  knocked  at  the  door. 
"  Come  in  !  "  The  girl  started  up,  surprised  at  the 
unexpected  face  of  her  visitor.  "  I  thought  it  might  be 
Fanny,"  she  said  half  apologetically  ;  and  then,  with 
instinctive  hospitality,  hastened  to  make  the  new-comer 
comfortable,  pushing  the  one  easy-chair  nearer  the  win 
dow,  which  stood  wide-open  this  mild  spring  morning. 
There  were  some  books  and  a  half-finished  letter  lying 
upon  the  table,  but  she  had  been  sitting  before  them 
with  folded  hands,  she  did  not  herself  know  how  long. 


ANOTHER  LIFE.  295 

"  I  hope  that  Mr.  Gard  is  better  this  morning  —  has 
got  over  his  headache?"  she  said  presently,  seeing  that 
her  guest  showed  no  disposition  to  speak. 

Mrs.  Gard  looked  up  quickly.  "  I  wanted  to  tell  you 
about  that.  He  —  my  husband  —  he  is  not  well;  the 
least  thing  excites  him,  and  for  strangers,  who  do  not 
know  —  " 

"  But  I  do  know,"  said  Constance,  with  a  ready  wish 
to  spare  her  the  pain  of  telling  ;  "  my  aunt  has  told  me." 

The  little  woman  opposite  looked  up  with  eager  eyes. 
"  She  has  told  you  ? "  leaning  forward  a  little  and  catch 
ing  at  her  breath. 

Miss  Varley  glanced  about  her  uneasily.  "  I  heard 
that  Mr.  Gard  had  had  sunstroke,"  she  said  gently. 
"I  was  very  sorry  to  hear  it." 

"  Yes !  " 

"  And  that  —  that  he  had  given  up  his  parish.  It 
must  have  been  a  great  sorrow  to  you,"  looking  up  with 
grave  compassion. 

She  moved  her  hand  impatiently,  as  though  putting 
herself  out  of  the  question.  "  And  she  told  you  nothing 
else  about  him,  then  ?  Nothing  about  the  reason  of  his 
leaving  ?  " 

Miss  Varley  looked  at  her  bewildered. 

"  She  said  he  had  sunstroke,  and  never  told  you  how 
or  why,  and  you  never  thought  to  ask  her,  or  she  answered 
you  as  she  did  that  Mr.  Lawrence  last  night.  They 
thought  I  did  not  hear  them  talking  of  Edwin.  A  dull 
old  man,  they  called  him,  and  shockingly  poor  ;  and  the 
parish  —  the  parish  would  have  got  rid  of  him  any  way. 
Our  own  parish,  Miss  Varley,"  clasping  her  thin,  rough 
hands  together,  and  looking  down  at  them  with  a  cer 
tain  bewildered  incredulity.  "  And  she  said  she  knew 
it ;  that  they  had  come  to  her  —  for  advice." 

"  I  am  sure,"  said  Constance,  hesitating,  "  I  am  sure 
that  my  aunt  meant  nothing  unkind.  And  I  know  that 
Mr.  Lawrence  —  If  you  will  tell  me  what  you  would 
like  him  to  know,  I  promise  you  that  he  shall  hear  it  to 
day,"  lifting  up  her  blue  eyes  frankly. 


296  MIRAGE. 

V*v^.  *"" 
Mrs.  Gard  did  not  seem  to  notice  the  offer. 

"  Our  own  parish,"  she  repeated  vacantly.  "  Why, 
Miss  Varley,  we  went  there  when  we  were  first  married, 
Edwin  and  I  ;  and  we  made  it  our  home.  It  was  a 
poor  enough  place  until  Edwin  came,  just  a  small  coun 
try  church  ;  and  he  started  every  thing  —  the  evening 
service  for  the  mill-hands,  and  the  Sunday-school,  and 
the  Wednesday  prayer-meetings  ;  he  never  missed  one 
of  them  in  twenty  years,  summer  or  winter,  until  last 
year.  There  wasn't  another  minister  in  all  the  country 
round  who  could  say  as  much,"  with  a  sharp  nod,  "  not 
one.  And  to  call  him  a  dull  preacher!  Why,  we  have 
had  people  visiting  us  —  people  from  Boston,  who  fcad 
heard  every  thing — and  they  said  they  had  never  list 
ened  to  better  sermons  than  my  Edwin's,"  a  dull  look 
of  pleasure  creeping  over  her  strained  and  anxious  face. 

Perhaps  it  was  some  relief  to  her  to  say  these  things 
to  Constance.  People  had  a  way  of  coming  to  the  girl 
with  stories  which  demanded  sympathy ;  she  never 
failed  to  meet  them,  whatever  trouble  she  might  have 
of  her  own  thrust  out  of  sight  and  speechless  ;  and  in 
all  things  she  had  found  it  easier  to  give  than  ask.  She 
listened  now  in  silence. 

"  It  was  a  poor  little  place  of  ours  — our  parish  —  but 
there  were  green  fields  all  about  the  village,  and  country 
air  and  quiet ;  that  was  what  made  Edwin  think  of  it," 
putting  up  her  hand  nervously  to  her  coarse,  colorless 
lips.  "  It  was  a  terrible  summer  in  New  York,  and  we 
heard  how  the  people  were  dying  every  day  in  the  city, 
and  he  thought  it  was  his  duty  to  give  some  other  man 
—  some  younger  man  —  a  chance.  He  told  me  of  it 
one  night  after  the  evening  service  —  we  were  walking 
home  together ;  "  sitting  up  abruptly,  "  and  the  next 
week  he  had  gone  there  and  made  the  exchange,  and 
before  the  month  was  over —  It  is  the  man  whose  place 
he  took  who  has  got  our  parish  now  —  Edwin's  parish," 
repeating  the  words  with  dogged  protest. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  he  took  it  ? "  the  girl  asked 
indignantly. 


ANOTHER  LIFE.  297 

Mrs.  Gard  looked  up. 

"  People  must  live,  you  know.  And  when  Edwin  was 
not  strong  enough —  Edwin  will  not  have  me  speak 
of  it.  He  says  it  was  the  will  of  Providence  ;  but  I  say 
—  I  say  it  was  our  home,"  with  a  sudden  break  in  the 
thin,  harsh  voice.  She  got  up  presently.  "  I  didn't 
mean  to  have  troubled  you  so  long,  Miss  Varley."  She 
turned  towards  the  door  and  looked  back.  "  I  am  a 
clergyman's  wife,"  she  said  hurriedly.  "  I  have  a  right 
to  speak.  I  have  been  listening  to  you  all  since  I  have 
been  here.  I  have  sat  by  and  heard  you  speak.  I  have 
heard  those  young  men  talk  of  their  carpets  and  their 
pictures,  and  laugh  at  this,  and  sneer  at  that,  and  talk 
of  the  proper  understanding  of  life  —  Life  !  There  is 
not  one  of  you  who  knows  what  the  word  means.  You 
call  yourselves  artists;  I  say  you  are  nothing  but 
lookers-on  —  people  who  stand  by  and  weigh  and  criti 
cise,  while  others —  And  while  you  are  talking  about 
life,  my  Edwin  has  gone  out  and  acted  ;  he  has  laid 
down  his  life  for  another,  while  you —  And  you  have 
every  thing  in  this  world,"  the  dull  color  rushing  sud 
denly  to  her  faded  cheek. 

"  I  think  you  should  be  very  proud  of  your  husband," 
said  Constance,  simply. 

Mrs.  Gard  stood  still  a  moment,  fumbling  nervously 
with  the  key  in  the  lock. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  said  presently,  taking  out 
her  coarse  cotton  handkerchief  and  passing  it  quickly 
over  her  face.  "  I  'm  sure  I  didn't  mean  to  be  uncivil, 
Miss  Varley;  and  after  all  your  aunt's  kindness  to  my 
husband  —  " 

She  hesitated,  and  put  her  hand  in  her  pocket  and 
looked  up  wistfully. 

"  I  thought  I  'd  like  to  show  you  —  "  with  a  hesitating 
glance  at  the  girl's  face.  "  It 's  a  photograph  we  had 
taken  of  Edwin's  testimonial, —  the  silver  teapot  and 
tray  they  gave  him  in  the  parish.  It  isn't  a  very  good 
photograph  ;  but  if  you  look  at  it  by  the  light  —  I 
copied  the  inscription  on  the  back  there,"  with  a  foolish, 
embarrassed  laugh. 


298  MIRAGE. 

*^^.      ^ 

Miss  Varley  took  the  poor  little  bit  of  cheap  card 
board  in  her  hand  and  looked  at  it  for  a  moment  steadily, 
and  then  she  turned  and  looked  at  her  companion. 
The  sharp,  commonplace  face  had  grown  almost  beauti 
ful  by  the  mere  force  of  sincerity  and  tenderness.  She 
stooped  with-  a  sudden  impulse  and  kissed  Mrs.  Gard 
upon  the  cheek. 

"When  the  time  comes,  I  think  some  of  us  may  be 
ready  to  give  up  our  lives  too,"  she  said. 

The  undemonstrative  New  England  woman  looked 
down,  embarrassed  by  the  unusual  caress. 

"I  —  I  did  not  mean  to  be  uncivil,"  she  repe'ated 
vaguely,  and  slipped  out  of  the  room  a  moment  ^ater 
with  a  mute  and  doubtful  glance. 

It  was  a  very  mild  spring  day. 

When  she  was  once  more  alone,  Constance  turned 
instinctively  to  the  window,  resting -her  arms  upon  its 
cushioned  ledge  and  looking  out  absently  at  the  soft 
and  luminous  gray  of  the  sky. 

It  was  one  of  those  silent,  colorless  days,  when  every 
sound  seems  to  come  from  far  off,  and  every  note  of 
color  is  intensified  to  twice  its  normal  value.  A  day 
full  of  light,  warm  gusts  of  wind,  and  quick  drops  of 
rain  which  wet  nothing ;  the  sun  shining  the  while 
behind  the  clouds  with  a  silvery  and  muffled  glare. 

She  leaned  upon  the  window-sill  and  looked  out 
absently. 

Once  Major  Thayer  passed  under  her  window ;  he 
was  coming  back  from  the  bazaar  with  Mr.  Gard,  and 
looked  up  cheerfully  and  called  her  name.  She  watched 
them  pass  in  at  the  open  doorway,  the  clergyman  follow 
ing  last  with  stiff  alacrity,  a  smile  upon  his  thin,  ascetic 
face.  He  held  his  hat  in  his  hand  as  he  came  in,  and 
the  light  shone  down  full  upon  his  high,  bald  forehead 
and  its  meek  fringe  of  smooth  gray  hair. 

And  this  man  had  known  supreme  self-sacrifice  to  an 
ideal  ? 

She  looked  after  him  meditatively,  pausing  there  on 
the  threshold,  as  it  were,  of  her  own  experience,  with 


ANOTHER  LIFE.  299 

the  soft,  enervating  wind  blowing  about  her,  in  a  world 
made  fair  and  sweet  with  the  rapturous  awakening  of 
the  spring,  lingering  a  moment  to  look  back  at  this 
other  life  with  a  vague  and  anxious  inquiry.  He  had 
answered  the  question  in  his  own  way;  but  how  when  it 
came  to  her  ? 

The  day  deepened  into  noon.  She  began  to  move 
about  her  room  restlessly,  fingering  her  riding-whip, 
straightening  the  feather  in  her  hat,  dwelling  in  a  hun 
dred  different  ways  upon  the  details  of  her  preparation. 
For  this  ride  had  grown  to  assume  a  curious  importance 
in  her  eyes.  She  looked  forward  to  it  with  a  curious, 
unworded  presentiment,  the  color  flushing  softly  to  her 
cheeks  as  she  thought  how,  out  there  in  the  silent  fields, 
there  might  come  some  look,  some  word —  And  even 
to  herself  she  did  not  end  the  sentence  ;  standing  sud 
denly  still,  on  her  face  a  smile  of  grave  and  incredulous 
delight. 

It  was  after  twelve  o'clock  when  Fanny  came  up  for 
her. 

Stuart  was  going  to  Baalbeck.  His  friends  had 
started  ;  his  horse  was  waiting  at  the  door. 

"  He  is  only  delaying  to  say  good-by  to  you,"  Mrs. 
Thayer  told  the  girl  reproachfully. 

It  was  not  an  impassioned  parting.  They  shook 
hands  by  the  foot  of  the  stairway. 

"  Well,  take  care  of  yourself,  Constance,"  said  Jack, 
in  his  matter-of-fact  voice. 

On  the  whole,  I  think  the  young  man  was  inclined  to 
feel  a  little  ashamed  of  his  previous  emotion. 

He  turned  back  once  more  as  he  was  going  out  of  the 
door. 

"I  mean  what  —  what  I  told  you  yesterday.  I'll 
come  back  then,"  with  an  emphatic  nod  and  a  new  look 
of  firmness  about  his  mouth.  And  then  he  took  her 
hand  in  his  again  and  held  it. 

"  You  '11  come  back  ?  "  said  the  Major,  catching  at  his 
last  words  ;  "  oh,  you  '11  come  back  soon  enough,  never 
fear.  I  think  I  'd  back  our  attractions  against  Baalbeck." 


300  MIRAGE. 


w^  «* 

And  so,  with  a  good-natured  laugh  on  the  old  man's 
side,  they  parted. 

"  It  will  do  the  boy  good.  I  don't  half  like  the  way 
he  is  looking,"  the  Major  said  to  himself  softly,  gazing 
after  the  horseman  clattering  down  the  street.  And 
then  he  turned  and  contemplated  Miss  Constance's 
pale  face  with  a  smile  of  considerable  humor,  as  much 
as  to  say,  "Good  heavena!  what  tragic  young  fools 
these  are  !  "  But  I  don't  think  that  Constance  paid 
much  attention  to  his  meaning. 

She  looked  up  now,  drawing  a  deep,  long  breath, 
with  the  action  of  a  person  putting  some  puzzling  ques 
tion  out  of  mind.  She  slipped  her  hand  underi-  the 
Major's  arm,  and  paced  slowly  up  and  down  the  court 
yard  at  his  side. 

"  I  wish  I  knew  some  one  who  could  tell  me  what  I 
wish  to  know,"  she  said  half  aloud. 

The  Major  looked  a-t  her  with  undisguised  alarm. 

"  My  dear,  ask  Fanny,"  he  began.  "  Fanny  is  the 
proper  person  —  " 

And  then  Constance  laughed. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  the  significance  of  life,"  she  said, 
with  a  touch  of  her  old  imperiousness.  "  It  seems  to 
make  so  little  difference  what  one  tries  to  do  —  " 

"  A  man  must  be  very  young  to  think  it  makes  any 
difference,"  said  the  Major,  philosophically.  "  You 
young  people  fancy  that  your  little  plans  and  hesita 
tions  and  decisions  are  shaping  life ;  and  all  the  while 
—  But  mind,  I  am  not  giving  you  any  advice,  you 
know." 

"  No,"  said  Constance,  smiling;  "you  send  people  to 
Fanny  for  that." 

"Exactly,"  the  Major  assented,  with  perfect  com 
posure  ;  "  and  when  you  have  been  married  as  long  as 
I  have  —  But  now  about  this  ride.  I  suppose  you  've 
heard  that  I  'm  ordered  out  for  escort-duty  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  you  're  coming,  of  course,"  said  Constance, 
looking  down. 

The  Major  smiled  to  himself  confidentially. 


ANOTHER  LIFE.  30 1 

"  Don't  mention  it  at  headquarters,"  he  said  aloud, 
"  but  I  'm  beginning  to  find  it  rather  a  bore  to  have  to 
regulate  my  movements  by  Mrs.  Van  Ness."  Adding 
hastily  a  moment  later  :  "  To  be  sure  it  always  pays 
better  to  give  in  to  a  woman  than  to  have  a  row  with 
her  ;  she  's  sure  to  carry  her  point  either  way." 

And  then  he  turned  and  looked  at  Constance  again 
with  an  air  of  amused  relief.  It  was  perfectly  evident 
the  girl  had  not  been  listening  to  a  word  of  what  he 
said. 

She  went  back  to  her  own  room  presently.  The 
absolute  quiet  of  intense  expectation  had  taken  posses 
sion  of  her.  As  the  hours  passed,  this  self-control  only 
deepened.  Fanny,  moving  restlessly  in  and  out  of  the 
room,  found  her  always  in  the  same  attitude  —  sitting 
quietly  by  the  window  looking  out  at  the  sky. 

"  And  what  you  .can  find  in  that  dull,  gray  day  to  stare 
at  is  more  than  I  can  see,"  the  little  woman  told  her  at 
last  with  secret  impatience. 

"  If  you  watched  it  long  enough  you  would  see  that 
all  those  clouds  are  moving,"  the  girl  answered,  looking 
up  with  a  sudden  smile  in  her  blue  eyes.  There  was 
something  in  the  silence,  the  still  and  ceaseless  unrest 
:>f  this  colorless  day,  wfiich  suited  her  fancy.  She  could 
feel  the  minutes  passing  one  by  one,  and  the  sensation 
gave  her  a  certain  pleasure.  She  had  no  wish  to  hurry 
the  flight  of  time  ;  on  the  contrary,  this  pause  of  sus 
pense  seemed  to  her  inexpressibly  grateful.  She  kept 
her  thoughts  turned  resolutely  away  from  what  might  be 
coming,  only  from  time  to  time  she  felt  her  heart  beat 
ing  quicker,  and  once  she  put  her  hand  up  to  her  eyes 
with  a  sudden  smile  to  find  them  full  of  tears. 

But  all  the  day  was  not  full  of  this  same  silence. 
Down  by  old  Ahmed's  house,  near  the  shoemakers' 
bazaar,  the  narrow  street  was  crowded  with  loitering 
groups  of  men.  Now  and  then  these  groups  were  scat 
tered  by  the  passing  of  the  bare-legged  porters  bending 
double  under  the  weight  of  their  heavy  bales  ;  newcomers 
were  constantly  arriving,  and  at  every  moment  the  door 


302  MIRAGE. 

opened  to  give  passage  to  some  anxious-faced 
or  swarthy  Bedawy,  with  scant,  discolored  drapery  and 
imperturbable  gait.  At  one  moment  a  large  white 
donkey  came  trotting  down  the  street,  shaking  his  crim 
son  trappings  and  bells,  and  every  one  made  way 
respectfully  for  its  master,  Ahmed  himself  coming  to 
the  door  to  receive  the  small,  wrinkled  old  man  in  the 
brown-and-white  striped  abbas  and  the  yellow  handker 
chief  bound  about  his  temples  with  cords  of  camels' 
hair. 

As  the  gate  was  thrown  open  before  him,  the  men 
waiting  about  outside  could  catch  a  brief  glimpse  .of  a 
crowded  courtyard,  a  curious  medley  of  bales  and  boxes 
and  rope-bound  saddles  and  lines  of  waiting  drome-" 
daries,  huge  threadbare-looking  beasts,  moving  their 
long,  thin  necks  restlessly  from  side  to  side,  or  crouching 
in  uncouth  rest  along  the  narrow  strip  of  shadow  by  the 
wall.  The  place  was  full  of  men  and  noise  and  color 
—  the  guttural  moaning  of  camels  and  voluble  Arabic 
voices,  and  white-clad  figures  and  fluttering  robes  of 
blue. 

"  By  Jove !  a  fellow  can  't  help  but  envy  you,"  said 
Ferris,  looking  out  at  the  shifting  crowd. 

Mr.  Lawrence,  to  whom  the  'words  were  addressed, 
was  taking  a  last  look  at  his  old  studio.  Here,  too,  was 
every  sign  of  movement  and  change  ;  bare  walls  and 
corded  boxes,  and  a  confused  litter  of  papers  and  half- 
finished  sketches  and  empty  color-tubes  strewing  the 
tables  and  floor. 

He  looked  up  now.  "  I  have  left  you  that  portfolio 
of  drawings.  And,  by-the-way,  Ferris,  there  's  a  lot  of 
blue  tiles  at  Aboo  Antika's  —  I've  got  the  old  beggar's 
receipt  for  them  somewhere  ;  I  told  him  to  send  them 
around  to  you.  I  should  like  to  have  you  keep  them. 
They  will  do  to  build  a  mausoleum  to  my  memory," 
with  a  laugh.  "  You  know  you  never  expect  to  see  me 
back." 

And  then  again,  after  a  moment's  silence  :  "  You  '11 
be  glad  to  hear  old  Ahmed  has  come  to  terms  at  last." 


ANOTHER  LIFE.  303 

"  About  that  girl  ?  " 

Lawrence  nodded.  "  It 's  all  settled  ;  I  'm  going  to 
paint  her.  It  suddenly  occurred  to  our  friend  Ahmed 
that,  being  an  infidel  Jewess  already,  it  could  hardly 
hurt  little  Ayassa  much  to  win  her  dowry  from  the 
exceeding  folly  of  a  dog  of  a  Christian.  It  is  a  view  of 
the  case  I  take  care  not  to  discourage.  I  shall  make 
something  out  of  that  I  think,  old  fellow,"  looking  up 
with  a  confident  smile.  "  I  believe  old  Ahmed  hardly 
expected  me  to  go,"  he  added  presently  ;  "  and,  indeed, 
until  last  night  —  " 

The  fascination  of  desert  travel  seemed  to  have  taken 
possession  of  Lawrence  already.  He  went  out  a  dozen 
times  in  the  course  of  the  morning  to  watch  the  prepara 
tions  of  the  caravan.  This  silent  and  sober  prevision 
of  great  distances,  of  a  barren  and  lifeless  land,  affected 
his  imagination.  The  Bedawy  sheikh  halted  a  moment 
under  his  window,  and  the  sight  of  his  keen  and  fleshless 
face,  the  thin,  black  beard  and  piercing  eyes  looking  out 
from  under  the  shadow  of  his  gaudy  head-dress,  gave 
him  a  curious  thrill  of  excitement.  He  sat  down  and 
began  telling  Ferris  of  his  former  experiences  —  of 
desert  stretches  seen  at  dawn,  of  long,  silent  journeys 
through  the  cooler  hours  before  the  morning,  of  even 
ing  encampments,  and  changeless  skies  high-arched 
above  illimitable  space.  And  through  all  his  rambling 
talk,  through  all  the  enforced  quiet  of  his  manner, 
Ferris  detected,  or  thought  that  he  detected,  the  pres 
ence  of  some  unwonted  emotion  held  out  of  sight. 
This  very  restlessness  was  something  new  in  Lawrence. 

On  entering  the  studio,  his  friend  had  found  him 
busied  in  nailing  up  some  of  the  various  boxes  which 
filled  the  room,  and  although  he  rose  at  once,  throwing 
away  his  hammer  with  some  muttered  allusion  to  the 
cursed  stupidity  of  these  Arab  fellows,  it  had  struck 
Ferris  even  then  that  there  was  something  beside  the 
mere  desire  of  travel  which  was  urging  him  on  to  push 
his  preparations  beyond  the  possibility  of  recall. 

"  You  might  have  left  all  this  until  to-morrow,"  he 


304  MIRAGE. 

suggested  once,  looking  around  at  the  disfftantled 
studio;  "you  will  find  it  deuced  uncomfortable  work 
waiting  all  the  afternoon  with  nothing  especial  to  do." 

"  I  Ve  got  an  engagement,"  said  Lawrence  ;  "  I  am 
going  out  riding.  1  promised  to  show  Miss  Varley  some 
gardens  outside  the  gates." 

Mr.  Ferris  was  silent  a  moment. 

"  Stuart  has  gone  away,  I  think  Davenant  told  me  ? " 

"  Stuart,"  said  Mr.  Lawrence,  looking  his  friend 
steadily  in  the  face,  "  has  gone  for  four  or  five  days  to 
Baalbeck." 

"  I  suppose  you  have  told  them  all  —  the  people  down 
there  at  the  hotel,  I  mean  —  that  you  were  leaving^?  " 

The  young  man  colored  slightly.  "  !•  have  not  men-* 
tioned  it.  I  have  not  seen  any  one  since  it  was  finally 
decided  ;  it  is  not  a  matter  of  such  very  great  impor 
tance,"  looking  out  of  the  window  absently.  "  I  hate  to 
have  my  affairs  discussed  by  a  lot  of  women,"  he  said 
with  sudden  irritation. 

Mr.  Ferris  smiled  significantly.  "  I  took  a  curious 
liking  to  that  girl,  you  know,"  he  added  presently  with 
a  certain  irrelevance,  and  Denis  did  not  ask  him  what 
he  meant.  In  the  silence  which  followed  there  came  a 
knock  upon  the  studio-door.  "  I  say,  Lawrence  — 
hallo,  Ferris,  and  how  did  you  come  here? — I  say, 
Lawrence,  there  's  a  boy  out  here  who  's  asking  after 
you,"  said  Davenant,  putting  in  his  head. 

He  came  in  and  looked  about  him  disconsolately.  "  I 
hate  these  changes.  I  wish  I  had  not  come  to  spoil  my 
old  impression.  Do  have  that  boy  in,  Lawrence.  He  's 
got  a  beautiful  face,  I  noticed,  and  it  will  be  something 
to  look  at,"  with  a  reproachful  glance  at  the  bare  walls. 

The  boy  was  the  same  boy  Jew  of  whom  mention  has 
been  made  already  ;  a  half-grown  lad,  whom  Denis  had 
picked  up  between  two  and  three  o'clock  on  a  bitter 
March  morning,  half  starved  and  nearly  speechless  with 
the  cold.  He  had  been  turned  out  of  the  house  where 
he  worked  some  day  or  two  before,  and  had  been  living 
in  any  way  he  could  ever  since,  prowling  about  the 


ANOTHER  LIFE. 


bazaars  by  day,  and  fighting  with  the  pariah  dogs  for 
the  warmest  corner  at  night.  On  further  inquiry,  he 
admitted  frankly  that  he  had  been  turned  out  for  steal 
ing  his  late  master's  dinner.  He  also  remarked  casually 
that  that  was  the  way  he  had  been  getting  his  dinners 
ever  since,  and  there  was  a  nai've  unconcern  about  his 
way  of  mentioning  the  fact  which  appealed  forcibly  to 
Lawrence's  taste  for  the  morally  picturesque.  He  took 
the  boy  home  with  him  that  night  from  motives  which,  I 
am  bound  to  admit,  had  more  to  do  with  the  state  of  the 
temperature  and  the  relative  thickness  of  their  coats 
than  with  the  higher  forms  of  justice  ;  and  the  lad  had 
attached  himself  persistently  to  the  young  man  ever 
since,  carrying  his  painting-traps  from  place  to  place, 
spending  whole  days  waiting  for  him  outside  the  door 
step  —  a  loyal  and  patient  and  utterly  irresponsible  little 
scamp. 

He  came  in  now,  carrying  a  small,  folded  package 
which  he  placed  listlessly  upon  the  nearest  table.  He 
went  and  leaned  against  the  wall,  an  effeminate,  supple 
figure  in  scarlet  and  white,  gazing  calmly  at  the  three 
young  men  with  his  still,  dark,  oriental  eyes.  "  And 
what  will  become  of  that  fellow  when  you  leave  ?  "  said 
Ferris. 

"  Oh,  I  take  the  boy  with  me.  That  is  the  worst  of 
playing  amateur  providence,"  with  a  careless  look  and 
laugh. 

"  You  are  always  picking  up  desperate  characters, 
Lawrence.  You  will  have  to  be  suppressed  some  day 
from  motives  of  sound  political  economy,"  said  George. 

The  package  had  come  unfastened  as  the  boy  laid  it 
down  ;  some  yellow  beads  were  lying  on  the  table. 

"More  tribute  to  the  beautiful  Ayassa?  If  it's  any 
thing  worth  looking  at  I  wish  you  would  hang  it  up  in 
a  conspicuous  place.  These  naked  walls  are  simply  in 
tolerable,"  said  Davenant,  putting  his  hand  to  his  eyes 
as  though  they  ached. 

Denis  laughed.  "  It  is  only  a  string  of  beads  I  have 
been  having  mended  for  Miss  Varley." 


306  MIRAGE. 

But  he  neither  touched  nor  looked  at  them  until  The 
others  had  left  him,  and  even  then  he  hesitated  a  mo 
ment  before  taking  the  bauble  into  his  hands.  A  man 
with  something  of  a  woman's  sentiment  for  trifles  I 
have  called  him  ;  he  looked  at  these  beads  now  with  a 
curious  attention,  holding  them  a  long  while  between 
his  ringers,  as  though  the  mere  contact  brought  him,  in 
some  mysterious  way,  in  closer  relation  to  their  owner. 
He  found  some  fanciful  analogy  between  the  impression 
the  girl  had  made  upon  him  and  these  smooth,  delicate 
circles  of  sunshine-colored  amber.  "  Something  apart 
and  mysterious  and  inimitable,"  he  thought  idly,  slipping 
the  yellow  chaplet  through  his  fingers,  and,  as  ibout 
every  thing  else  which  she  had  worn  the  day  before, 
he  noticed  that  about  these  beads  there  lingered  the 
faint  suggestion  of  clinging  oriental  perfume. 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

"AFTER  THREE  YEARS." 

THEY  started.  There  was  quite  a  little  crowd  col 
lected  about  the  doorway  to  see  the  young  girl 
appear  in  her  riding-dress.  Mrs.  Van  Ness  herself  had 
come  down  into  the  courtyard  where  she  stood  leaning 
upon  Fanny's  arm,  and  watching  her  niece's  movements 
with  coldly-unfavorable  eyes. 

"  And  to  think,  my  dear,  that  your  husband  should 
insist  upon  finishing  that  sketch  before  he  starts.  A 
man  of  his  age !  It  is  really  too  ridiculous,"  she  said 
with  sudden  exasperation,  as  the  injudicious  Lione 
brushed  by  her  with  one  of  his  ecstatic  bounds. 

"  I  am  sure,  Aunt  Van,  if  you  knew  the  trouble  I 
have  had  in  persuading  him  to  go  at  all  ; "  Fanny  pro 
tested  in  her  plaintive  little  voice. 

And  then  they  both  turned  to  look  at  the  tall,  erect 
girl  moving  swiftly  down  the  winding  stair,  and  hold- 


"  AFTER    THREE    YEARS."  307 

ing  up  'her  habit  and  fastening  her  gloves  as  she 
came. 

"  Such  a  lovely  day,  Aunt  Van  !  Down,  sir ;  be  quiet, 
Lione  !  Such  a  day  for  a  ride !  "  she  said  with  such 
frank,  eager  joyousness  in  all  her  manner  that  even 
Mrs.  Van  Ness  was  startled  for  the  moment  into  some 
thing  very  like  assent ;  and  it  was  only  when  they  had 
started  down  the  street  together,  Miss  Varley's  horse 
shying  and  prancing  at  every  wave  of  Lione's  golden- 
brown  ears  —  it  was  only  when  the  two  were  fairly  off 
upon  their  expedition  that  the  old  lady  devoted  herself 
to  the  pleasing  task  of  finding  fault  with  Fanny,  which 
she  did  with  an  ingenuity  of  insinuation  and  a  calm  se 
verity  of  conclusion  which  would,  I  fear,  have  afforded  a 
certain  grim  and  retributive  satisfaction  to  the  Major. 

"For  I  find  something  shocking,  positively  shocking, 
quite  inconvenant,  in  the  way  you  allow  Constance  to 
dispose  of  her  own  time.  Constance  has  a  will  of  her 
own?  Nonsense,  Fanny!  A  woman  of  your  age," 
looking  Mrs.  Thayer  stonily  in  the  face,  "  should  know 
how  to  manage  better  than  that.  There,  my  dear,  you 
need  not  answer  me.  I  know  what  I  am  saying  per 
fectly  well.  I  consider,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Ness  calmly, 
"that  my  niece  is  as  good  as  engaged  to  young  Stuart. 
She  does  not  think  so,  but  I  do.  And  under  the  cir 
cumstances  nothing  could  be  in  more  deplorable  taste 
than  the  slightest  suspicion  of  a  flirtation  with  Mr. 
Lawrence  —  a  charming  young  fellow;  a  capital  list 
ener  ;  rather  different  in  that  respect  from  your  hus 
band,  my  dear  Fanny,  who  never  seems  to  be  aware 
that  I  am  speaking  —  a  charming  young  fellow,"  said 
Mrs.  Van  Ness  majestically,  "  but  not  a  marrying 
man." 

But  this  was  a  consideration  which  did  not  seem  to 
have  occurred  to  either  of  the  two  young  people.  It 
would  have  been  difficult  indeed  to  have  found  two 
people  more  thoroughly  well  satisfied  than  they,  as  they 
picked  their  way  leisurely  along  the  crowded  streets,  the 
horses  slipping  and  starting  over  the  smooth,  round 


308  MIRAGE. 

stones  until  the  noise  of  the  clattering  hoofs  overpow 
ered  every  other  sound  ;  and  their  riders  were  silent, 
only  turning  their  heads  from  time  to  time  to  exchange 
a  well-contented  glance.  Once,  as  they  were  passing 
Ahmed's  house,  the  cries  of  the  camels  frightened  Miss 
Varley's  horse,  who  shied  violently  across  the  road. 
She  was  a  brave  rider,  and  independent  to  a  fault,  but 
now,  when  Lawrence  laid  his  hand  upon  her  reins,  she 
gave  them  up  without  a  word.  It  seemed  the  most 
natural  thing  to  them  both  that  he  should  have  as 
sumed  entire  control  of  their  movements.  He  spoke 
of  it  once  :  — 

"  I  am  taking  it  for  granted  that  I  know  which»way 
you  wish  to  go,"  he  said  smiling. 

She  looked  up  brightly. 

"  I  like  to  be  tyrannized  over,"  she  said,  and  then, 
all  at  once,  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  always 
liked  it. 

They  rode  on.  Some  half-a-dozen  Turkish  soldiers 
were  lounging  and  smoking  about  the  city-gate ;  a  laden 
camel  was  crouching  by  the  roadside  ;  a  heavy  ordnance- 
wagon  jolted  noisily  on  before  them  between  two  lines 
of  sordid  yellow  wall ;  a  few  paces  more,  and  a  palm- 
tree  nodded  to  them  from  some  hidden  garden,  the 
creaking  wagon  stopped  with  a  clank  before  the  bar 
rack  door,  another  gate  lifted  before  them  its  piles  of 
Roman  masonry. 

"Now!"  said  Lawrence,  pointing  with  his  whip. 
The  horses  sprang  forward  with  a  common  impulse. 
The  river  rushed  and  foamed  on  a  level  with  the  turf 
bordering  the  wide,  white  road ;  and  there  were  tall, 
green  poplar-trees  standing  deep  in  the  limpid  water, 
and  all  strong,  vigorous-growing  things  were  there  — 
tall  bulrushes,  and  low,  thick  willows,  and  dark  beds 
of  lily-leaves  up-springing  greenly  beneath  a  pale  and 
luminous  sky. 

"  At  last !  "  said  Lawrence,  drawing  a  deep  breath. 

She  looked  all  about  her,  and  laughed  for  very  joy. 
"At  last!" 


"AFTER    THREE    YEARS."  309 

And  then  for  many  minutes  there  was  no  other  word 
spoken ;  no  sound  but  the  muffled  beat  of  horses'  hoofs 
sweeping  along  in  quickening  cadence  on  a  line  with 
the  water's  flow. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  say  what  the  young  girl  was 
experiencing  in  those  moments.  A  feeling  of  wild 
delight  and  of  unreality  —  above  all,  a  sentiment  of 
unreality  mingled  in  the  strangest  fashion  with  the 
purely  physical  exultation  in  rapid  motion  and  the 
touch  of  the  warm,  moist  wind.  It  was  a  gray,  sunless 
day,  but  the  horses  stopped  of  their  own  accord  at  the 
foot  of  the  second  hill,  panting  deep  breaths,  with 
heaving  flanks,  and  breasts  all  streaked  and  shining 
with  heat. 

"There  must  be  a  touch  of  khemseen  in  the  air. 
We  shall  have  to  take  it  a  little  more  quietly,"  said 
Denis,  leaning  back  in  his  saddle,  and  pulling  off  his 
hat. 

They  went  on  at  foot-pace.  In  that  first,  long  gallop 
they  had  left  all  sight,  all  suggestion  of  the  city  far 
behind.  They  were  passing  now  between  two  long  lines 
of  blossoming  orchards,  deep,  walled-in  spaces  of  white 
and  spreading  boughs. 

When  they  ceased  to  ride  fast,  the  day  seemed  to 
grow  more  still ;  there  was  not  a  breath  of  wind  stirring, 
not  a  sound  ;  they  were  entirely  alone,  only  all  about 
them  there  were  great  dome-like  masses  of  bloom  and 
whiteness  rising  up  against  the  gray  of  the  sky.  The 
river,  too,  had  wandered  away  ;  but  when  they  listened 
they  could  catch  a  hundred  faint,  murmuring  sounds  ct 
water,  the  voice  of  countless,  unseen  brooks  deep-hidden 
in  the  orchard-grass.  It  was  like  some  forgotten  day 
which  had  strayed  back  from  its  place  in  the  very  early 
spring ;  the  atmosphere  was  tepid  and  moist,  as  on 
some  silent  afternoon  in  April,  with  every  now  and  then 
a  thrill  of  warmer  and  more  enervating  air.  The  sky 
was  low  and  gray  and  restless.  The  horses  were  con 
tent  to  walk  on  slowly,  whinnying  from  time  to  time, 
and  striking  the  ground  with  impatienf  feet. 


310  MIRAGE. 

Once,  when  they  were  passing  before  a  high,  wftoden 
paling,  Lawrence  pointed  out  the  place  to  her. 

"  Ahmed's  garden.  I  have  had  it  opened  for  you.  I 
told  the  Major  to  meet  us  there.  We  will  dismount 
and  go  in  and  see  it,  if  you  like,  on  our  way  back." 

"  You  must  positively  let  me  get  a  sketch  of  you  to 
day,"  he  said  a  moment  later.  "  The  merest  outline,  a 
pencil-note,  will  be  enough  •  but  I  want  it  this  after 
noon." 

She  smiled,  well  pleased.  "Whenever  you  like, — 
to-day  or  to-morrow." 

"You  have  been  telling  me  that  for  the  last  tkree 
days,"  said  Denis.  ^ 

"  Is  it  really  only  three  days  since  we  came  here  ? " 
with  a  startled  glance.  "  Why,  it  seems  —  "  She  hesi 
tated,  a  sudden  realization  of  what  those  three  days 
counted  for  in  her  life  sweeping  over  her  and  checking 
her  speech.  "  But  you  shall  have  the  sketch  whenever 
you  please,"  she  said  hurriedly. 

"  I  hardly  think  that  I  shall  have  time  to-morrow  —  " 
He  paused  so  long  that  she  looked  up  surprised. 

"  To-morroW?  " 

He  opened  his  lips  to  speak  of  his  journey.  I  do  not 
know  what  impulse  it  was  which  kept  him  silent.  The 
day  was  so  harmonious  ;  they  were  both  so  contented  ; 
there  seemed  something  absolutely  brutal  in  marring 
this  fine  unison  with  any  thought  of  change.  And  with 
those  questioning  blue  eyes  fixed  upon  his  face,  it 
seemed  easier  to  speak  of  any  thing  than  leaving. 

"  Tell  me  what  was  the  matter  with  you  last  night," 
he  said,  putting  out  his  hand  and  drawing  a  wisp  of  her 
horse's  thin  mane  through  his  fingers.  "  I  wanted  to 
ask  you,  several  times." 

Her  cheek  flushed  a  little.  "  You  ?  Why,  you  were 
talking  to  my  aunt,"  she  said  evasively. 

"  I  have  made  a  very  good  impression  on  Mrs.  Van 
Ness,"  said  Lawrence,  smiling.  "  And,  by  the  way,  she 
has  not  told  you  that  I  am  a  very  charming  fellow  ? " 

"  Never ! " 


"AFTER   THREE    YEARS."  311 

"Ah,  well,  that  is  all  to  come  then.  You  wait  and 
see.  I  am  exceedingly  charming, — quite  remarkably 
so,  in  fact ;  and  when  I  go  home  to  New  York,  whenever 
that  event  may  occur,  I  am  to  be  invited  to  a  dinner  in 
consequence,  —  to  a  little  dinner." 

"Only  eight?" 

"Only  eight,  of  course.  I  call  that  exceedingly  dis 
respectful  of  you,  Miss  Varley." 

She  laughed.  "  And  yet  I  am  fond  of  my  aunt,  you 
know  —  in  a  fashion." 

"  So  is  Mrs.  Thayer."  He  dropped  the  lock  of  coarse 
black  hair,  and  straightened  himself  suddenly  in  his 
saddle.  "You  will  not  tell  me  why  you  were  so  sad 
last  night,  then  ? "  looking  keenly  at  her. 

She  was  silent,  the  flush  deepening  upon  her  face:  a 
girl  made  reticent  by  temperament  as  well  as  habit ;  un 
used  to  sympathy.  She  would  have  told  him  any  thing  ; 
but  even  to  herself  the  words  seemed  meagre  and  un 
satisfactory  when  they  came.  But  it  was  impossible 
he  should  not  understand. 

"  Mr.  Stuart  had  told  me  he  was  going  away.  It  is 
only  for  a  few  days,  but  I  knew  it  was  my  fault,  and  — 
there  are  some  things  that  seem  so  hard  to  do.  I  could 
not  help  being  sorry,"  her  eyes  filling  suddenly  with 
tears. 

He  was  the  only  person  who  would  understand  her. 
It  was  so  easy,  so  natural  to  tell  him  every  thing.  She 
turned  to  him  now  eagerly.  "  And  then  Aunt  Van  had 
been  finding  fault  with  me  all  the  morning,  you  know." 

"  About  Mr.  Stuart  ? " 

She  looked  up  relieved.  It  was  plain  he  must  under 
stand  to  have  asked  that  question.  There  was  some 
thing  in  the  expression  of  his  face  which  made  her  shrink 
back  doubtfully,  the  same  baffled,  disappointed  feeling 
of  last  night  creeping  over  her.  And  yet  he  had  not 
said  a  word  ;  he  was  only  looking  straight  ahead  at  the 
long,  empty  road,  his  hand  resting  carelessly  on  his 
horse's  neck. 

"It  was  about  Mr.  Stuart?" 


312  MIRAGE. 

He  turned,  and  repeated  his  question  gravely  ^^and 
somehow,  she  could  not  have  told  why,  but  it  seemed 
to  her  that  there  was  more  in  his'  meaning  than  in  the 
simple  words.  Yet  she  answered  him  with  all  her  cus 
tomary  directness. 

"Yes  ;  about  Mr.  Stuart." 

"  Aunt  Van  does  not  mean  any  harm,"  she  said  in 
coherently,  a  moment  later,  bending  over  to  stroke  the 
horse  between  his  eyes;  "I  would  not  like  you  to  think 
that.  Only  one's  relatives  have  a  way  of  expecting  you 
to  be  happy  after  their  own  ideas  of  happiness  ;  al 
though,  I  must  say,  my  experience  of  near  relatives  is 
rather  limited.  I  think  there  cannot  be  many  girls 
with  so  few  people  belonging  to  them  as  I  —  "  breaking 
off  with  a  confused  laugh. 

He  looked  at  her  fixedly  for  a  minute  or  two.  "  Is 
Mrs.  Van  Ness  your  only  aunt  ?  Tell  me  all  about 
her.  Tell  me  something  more  about  yourself.  It  seems 
curious  to  think  how  little  I  know  about  you  in  reality," 
bending  forward  a  little  with  one  of  his  rare,  sudden 
smiles.  Whatever  might  have  been  the  motive  which 
had  made  him  irresponsive,  it  was  plain  that  he  had  rid 
himself  of  its  influence  for  the  nonce.  "Tell  me,"  he 
said  ;  and  she  no  more  hesitated  to  grow  communicative 
at  his  bidding  than  one  of  the  blossoms  about  them 
would  have  hesitated  about  unfolding  its  petals  in  the 
sun. 

There  was  so  little  to  tell,  she  answered.  Mrs.  Van 
Ness  was  her  only  near  connection;  yes.  "Aunt  Van 
was  my  mother's  half-sister,  and  much,  very  much,  the 
elder  of  the  two.  My  mother  was  only  twenty  when  she 
died,"  the  girl  said  softly.  "  My  father  has  a  picture  of 
her,  taken  just  after  their  marriage,  —  an  old-fashioned 
pastel  thing  with  pink  cheeks  and  her  hair  all  brushed 
back ;  but  I  think  it  must  have  been  a  good  likeness,  it 
looks  so  very  much  like  me." 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment,  looking  out  wistfully  at 
the  sweet  spring  fields.  "  She  was  only  twenty  ;  younger 
than  I  am,"  she  repeated  softly  ;  "only  twenty,  and  my 


"AFTER    THREE    YEARS."  313 

father  loved  her  so  dearly,  and  she  died.  You  see  I 
can't  help  caring  for  Aunt  Van  a  little,  can  I  ? "  turning 
to  Lawrence  with  a  sudden  appeal. 

She  was  so  near  that  he  could  see  the  very  quivering 
of  her  lips.  He  put  up  his  hand  to  his  own  mouth 
uneasily,  smoothing  down  the  ends  of  his  moustache. 
"Engaged  to  marry  Stuart,"  he  reminded  himself  once 
or  twice ;  chance  words  out  of  Mrs.  Van  Ness's  confi 
dences  coming  back  with  gathering  meaning.  "  Damn 
the  woman  !  "  he  thought  savagely. 

"  You  ought  to  wish  me  joy,"  he  said  to  Constance  a 
moment  later ;  "  this  is  my  birth-day.  To-day  I  'm 
thirty-one.  I  suppose  that  is  a  reason  for  being  con 
gratulated  ? " 

"Eight,  nine  —  only  nine  years  older  than  I,"  said 
Constance. 

He  nodded.  "Nine  years  in  point  of  fact,  perhaps; 
but  I  am  incalculably  older  than  you  in  reality.  Why, 
I  had  half  got  through  with  life  before  I  was  your  age. 
There  must  be  centuries  of  experience  between  us  by 
this  time,"  with  a  sudden  tone  in  his  voice  which  seemed 
to  push  her  miles  away. 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  a  patient,  puzzled  glance. 
She  had  done  nothing  ;  there  was  no  reason  he  should 
be  unkind  to  her,  —  with  a  sudden,  childish  passion  of 
resentment.  It  was  unkind,  unjust. 

"  You  should  take  that  horse  up  a  little  more  on  his 
curb,  Miss  Varley.  So.  These  Arab  horses  are  un 
reliable  brutes  ;  and  I  can't  be  responsible  for  you  if 
you  are  not  obedient,"  adjusting  the  reins  slowly,  and 
looking  into  her  face  the  while.  He  saw  something  there 
which  seemed  to  amuse  him.  "  Yes,  it  is  my  birthday. 
We  used  to  have  a  way  of  celebrating  our  birthdays 
when  I  was  a  boy  at  home :  presents  first,  of  course; 
and  then,  before  we  went  to  sleep  at  night,  a  sort  of 
general  confession,  an  overhauling  of  all  the  year's 
mistakes.  I  used  to  look  forward  to  that  part  of 
it  with  a  sort  of  nervous  horror  when  I  was  a  little 
fellow ;  it  is  only  as  one  gets  older  that  one  learns 


314  MIRAGE. 

to  take  a  paternal  interest  in  the  enumeration  of*one's 
faults." 

She  bent  down  and  touched  Lione's  head  with  the 
lash  of  her  riding-whip. 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  Now  you  are  very  proud,"  watching  her  averted  face 
with  the  same  attentive  amusement.  "  A  few  years  ago, 
if  any  one  had  told  you  that,  you  would  have  felt  very 
unhappy  about  it  and  promised  to  reform  ;  and  now  —  I 
want  you  to  observe  how  the  best  of  us  degenerate  — 
you  are  playing  with  your  dog  and  thinking  — 

She  looked  up  and  laughed. 

"  Well  ?  "'closing  her  mouth  defiantly.  .;. 

"  The  Sphinx  in  person  ?  No  ;  I  don't  read  thoughts. 
Your  pride  is  so  much  a  part  of  you,"  he  said  suddenly, 
"that  I  honestly  believe  it  would  be  easier  for  you  to 
stand  by  and  see  your  dearest  hope  founder  than  put 
out  your  hand  or  save  it  by  a  word." 

She  turned  to  him  with  a  startled  air. 

"  Would  I  ?  I  don't  know,"  the  color  rising  suddenly 
about  her  throat  and  cheek. 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Lawrence  gravely.  "  Now,  my  own 
faults  —  my  own  faults,"  flicking  his  horse's  ears,  with  a 
frank,  careless  laugh,  "  are  vastly  worse,  belong  to  quite 
a  lower  order  of  moral  turpitude.  For  one  thing,  I  am 
more  easily  diverted  from  my  purpose  than  any  one  you 
ever  knew.  I  should  call  it  a  certain  plasticity  of  nature 
if  I  were  describing  the  trait  to  an  outsider  ;  but  between 
you  and  me,"  confidentially,  "  I  think  it  is  a  horribly 
mortifying  fact.  My  only  line  of  self-defence  is  a  sort 
of  stony  obduracy,"  laughing.  "  For  if  I  once  begin  to 
listen  to  the  voice  of  the  charmer  !  —  And  the  worst 
of  it  is  that  it  isn't  people  alone,  but  days,  places,  the 
very  commonest  things  which  influence  me.  Why,  the 
mer£  fact  that  the  wind  is  blowing  from  a  certain  quarter 
—  I'm  like  a  French  revolution — you  know  the 
story?"  with  a  sudden  touch  of  mockery  —  "I  can't 
build  my  barricades  if  it  rains." 

"But  that  is  only  one  fault  —  if  you  call  it  a  fault," 


"AFTER    THREE    YEARS:1  315 

said  Constance  seriously.  "  For  my  part  I  think  I  am 
just  a  little  tired  of  hermetically-sealed  natures.  At 
least —  I  don't  know.  The  outside  world  seems  to  me 
to  be  something  more  than  just  a  side-scene  or  a  farm." 

"  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you  that  there  might  be  people 
yet,  susceptible  to  precisely  those  influences  which  the 
Greeks  embodied  in  all  the  wild  and  beautiful  creatures 
of  the  water  and  the  woods  —  in  fauns  and  dryads  and 
the  shy,  white  nymphs?  It's  all  very  well  to  call  that 
sort  of  thing  mythical,"  said  Lawrence,  "  but  it  was  no 
more  a  fiction  than  the  religion  of  the  Egyptians  was  a 
fiction  until  the  Greeks  appeared,  or  than  the  religion  of 
the  early  Hebrews,  with  all  its  strange  admixture  of 
idol  worship  and  curious  Chaldean  lore.  Why,  the  high 
places  of  these  very  hills  around  us  were  once  as  sacred 
to  unseen  and  beautiful  or  terrible  presences  as  the 
most  nymph-haunted  wood  in  Greece.  And  who  knows 
what  tales  will  be  told,  in  the  course  of  some  thousand 
years,  of  a  religion  which  peopled  the  remote  and  silent 
places  of  mountain  and  forest  and  lagoon  with  way-side 
shrines  and  crosses,  until  there  is  hardly  a  spot  in 
Catholic  Europe  u.ntenanted  by  the  effigy  of  a  god  ? 
And  then  all  the  long  litany  of  saints  —  It  will  not  be 
difficult  for  our  descendants  to  trace  out  our  mythology, 
I  fancy." 

Constance  smiled. 

"  The  plastic  nature  again,  Mr.  Lawrence  ?  I  might 
have  thought  Mr.  Davenant  was  speaking  if  I  had  shut 
my  eyes." 

"  Oh,  come  now,"  said  Denis  hastily  ;  "  I  said  plastic, 
you  know,  not  imitative.  I  believe  in  the  niceties  of 
language,  Miss  Varley  —  " 

"  In  discussing  your  faults  ?  " 

"  In  speaking  of  myself  generally.  And  I  don't 
know  about  the  wisdom  of  confessing  any  further.  It 
might  affect  your  present  opinion  —  " 

"  Try  me,"  said  Constance,  with  her  clear,  confident 
glance. 

The  horses  had   been   moving  on  while   they  were 


316  MIRAGE. 

talking.  They  had  reached  the  extreme  limit  <tr>  trie 
Field  of  Damascus,  a  vast  and  undulating  plain  of  red 
dish  soil,  streaked  here  and  there  with  lines  and  patches 
of  young  grass.  The  circling  hills  seemed  nearer  and 
darker  under  this  effect  of  colorless  sky,  and  between 
them  and  that  farther  range  of  mountains  they  could 
catch  a  gleam  of  silvery-looking  water,  a  still,  unruffled 
lake,  at  which  Lawrence  glanced  curiously  from  time  to 
time. 

"  Do  you  think  it  would  be  too  far  for  us  to  ride  out 
there  ?  "  Constance  asked,  pointing  to  the  water  with 
her  whip. 

He  looked  at  her  gaily.  '+. 

"  If  one  could  get  there  !  It  is  odd  enough,  but  this 
place,  this  red  clay  soil,  and  that  gap  over  there  in  the 
hills  remind  me  so  strongly  of  a  certain  part  of  Vir 
ginia.  I  spent  part  of  a  summer  there  once." 

"  I  know,"  the  girl  said  eagerly  ;  "  when  you  were 
fighting,  when  you  were  in  the  war." 

"  When  I  was  looking  on  at  other  people  fighting, 
you  mean." 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  turning  quickly,  with  a  great  light  in 
her  face.  "I  know  more  about  it  than  you  think.  I 
know  what  you  did.  I  know  —  the  Major  has  told  me." 

"  The  Major  is  growing  imaginative.  But  a  woman 
will  never  understand  what  a  plain,  prosaic  thing  the 
greater  part  of  a  war  must  be.  You  forget  the  camp- 
life  and  the  tedium  and  the  dulness.  And  you  're  right 
about  that,  perhaps  ;  there  's  nothing  very  heroic  in  bad 
rations  and  muddy  roads  —  and  toothache.  I  think 
that  was  one  of  the  greatest  shocks  I  ever  had  in  my 
life  "  (laughing)  ;  "  the  first  time  I  slept  under  canvas 
there  were  three  men  in  my  tent  with  the  toothache.  I 
went  down  there  with  the  idea  that  every  man  fighting 
for  the  North  was  something  between  a  martyr  and  a 
hero,  and  I  found  them  grumbling  over  a  camp-fire  with 
their  faces  tied  up  in  handkerchiefs  like  so  many  old 
women.  Fancy  indulging  in  hero-worship  about  a  man 
who  swore  at  you  for  not  being  a  professional  dentist ! " 


"AFTER    THREE    YEARS."  3 1/ 

"  But  you  did  other  things  beside  that,"  she  insisted  ; 
"  you  were  in  a  battle  ;  you  were  wounded  yourself  try 
ing  to  help  some  wounded  men  ;  Tom  has  told  me. 
And  I  think  I  would  rather  have  done  that  —  what  you 
did  —  than  — "  She  bent  down  and  examined  the 
buckle  of  her  reins  critically.  "  I  wish  you  would  tell 
me  all  about  it,"  the  light  growing  bright  and  steady  in 
her  eyes. 

"  But  you  know  it  all  ;  there  isn't  any  story,"  said 
Lawrence  quietly.  "  There  were  a  lot  of  us  down  there. 
I  wasn't  a  soldier  myself,  you  know." 

She  nodded. 

"  I  know.  You  were  one  of  the  Sanitary  Commission 
people  ;  you  were  taking  care  of  the  poor  men  in  the 
hospitals,  saving  their  lives  —  " 

"  And  trying  to  keep  them  provided  with  tolerable 
soup  and  biscuit.  We  might  as  well  stick  to  facts 
while  we  are  about  it,  Miss  Varley.  Well  —  I  really 
don't  know  how  to  make  any  thing  out  of  such  an.  un- 
romantic  experience.  I  happened  to  be  out  with  the 
ambulance-men  one  day.  There  had  been  a  lively 
skirmish  going  on  for  a  couple  of  days  all  along  the 
front,  and  a  good  many  men  were  missing,  shot  or 
bushwhacked,  we  did  not  know  which ;  and  so,  as  I  said 
before,  some  of  us  started  out  to  look  them  up.  We 
knew  where  we  were  going  when  we  started  —  to  a  place 
where  they  had  driven  in  our  pickets  the  night  before." 

"  Yes  !  " 

"  Well,  we  got  there  and  found  a  couple  of  graycoats 
alive  still  —  our  men  had  come  down  on  them  so  quick 
that  they  hadn't  time  to  carry  off  their  wounded,  so  we 
sent  these  two  into  camp  on  stretchers.  They  both  died 
on  their  way  there,  poor  devils  !  and  we  started  for  home 
ourselves.  And  then  —  I  really  can't  tell  you  how  it 
happened  —  there  was  a  lot  of  firing,  and  we  all  started 
down  the  hill  at  a  run,  dodging  in  and  out  behind  the 
trees  ;  and  the  first  thing  I  knew  I  tripped  over  some 
thing,  and  found  myself  lying  on  my  back  among  the 
sassafras-bushes  with  a  couple  of  bullets  in  me." 


318  MIRAGE. 

'  '>-.  •• 

She  nodded  gravely,  rubbing  the  buckle  softly  with 
the  finger  of  her  glove. 

"  Go  on  !  " 

"  Well,  that  was  about  the  end  of  it,  as  far  as  I  was 
concerned.  I  suppose  I  must  have  fainted  then — loss 
of  blood  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  you  know  —  because, 
when  I  opened  my  eyes  again,  I  could  see  the  stars 
shining  down  between  the  sides  of  the  gully.  It  was  a 
beautiful,  starlight  night,  I  remember,  and  I  could  see 
every  thing  about  me  —  the  cracks  in  the  rocks,  and 
the  leaves  on  the  bushes  nearest  me,  and  then  the 
face  of  the  man  —  the  man  I  stumbled  over,  /you 
know."  •• 

She  looked  up. 

"  I  suppose  he  had  been  dead  a  good  while,"  said 
Lawrence  slowly;  "a  young  fellow — he  looked  like  a 
gentleman,  too,  with  long  hair  like  a  young  Virginian. 
I  couldn't  move  much,  you  know,  so  I  just  lay  still  and 
looked  at  him  :  he  had  a  fine  face,  not  disfigured  in  the 
least.  And  then  towards  morning  it  got  awfully  cold, 
and  then  I  felt  as  though  somebody  was  sawing  me  in 
two  with  a  piece  of  red-hot  iron  ;  well,  that  was  pretty 
bad.  And  then  two  or  three  times  I  died.  And  every 
time  I  came  to,  there  was  this  fellow  lying  still  beside 
me,  with  his  eyes  wide  open  ;  and  at  last  I  got  so  that 
I  found  a  sort  of  companionship  in  having  him  there ; 
and  I  suppose  I  went  off  my  head  a  little,  for  I  remem 
ber  quite  well  hearing  myself  speaking  to  him,  and 
saying  the  most  beautiful  things  you  can  imagine  about 
death  and  immortality  —  and  swearing  frightfully  all 
the  while." 

"And  then?" 

"Well,  then — but  this  was  after  an  interval  of  two 
or  three  hundred  years,  you  know,  and  I  did  not  much 
care  what  happened  —  then,  just  before  daybreak,  I 
saw  some  lights  moving  through  the  bushes,  and  I  heard 
the  voices  of  some  men,  and  I  couldn't  call  out  to  them. 
Perhaps  that  was  the  worst  moment  of  it  all,  when  I 
found  I  could  not  speak  above  a  whisper.  However, 


"AFTER    THREE    YEARS."  319 

they  came  up  all  the  same  —  I  warned  you  in  the  be 
ginning  that  it  was  a  very  mild  tragedy,  Miss  Varley  — 
and  one  of  them  put  his  lantern  down  over  the  top  of 
my  bush  —  " 

"And  then,  what  did  he  do?  —  what  did  he  say?" 
asked  Constance. 

Lawrence  looked  up  and  laughed.  "He  said  —  I 
was  in  civilian's  dress,  you  know  —  he  said,  'Hollo, 
here's  another  of  those  d  —  d  newspaper  correspon 
dents  ; '  and  that  put  me  in  an  awful  rage,  because  I 
knew  the  man  by  sight:  his  name  was  Jackson.  So 
I  bided  my  time,  and  the  moment  they  had  poured  some 
brandy  down  my  throat  I  opened  my  eyes  as  wide  as  I 
could,  and  I  said :  'Don't  be  a  fool,  Bill  Jackson  ! '  and 
there,  as  far  as  I  know,  the  war  ended.  It  was  nothing 
but  surgeons  and  hospital-gruel  after  that." 

He  gathered  his  reins  together  as  he  ceased  speak 
ing,  and  the  horses  went  off  across  the  plain  at  a  gal 
lop.  "You  still  want  to  go  as  far  as  that  lake?"  he 
asked  presently,  looking  back  over  his  shoulder  at 
Constance. 

Something  in  his  tone  puzzled  her.  "  If  it  is  not 
too  far,"  she  began  doubtfully,  trying  to  see  what  he 
meant  by  his  face.  "Is  there  any  thing  peculiar  —  I 
don't  quite  understand.  Is  any  thing  the  matter  with 
that  lake,  Mr.  Lawrence  ?  " 

"Look  at  Lione,"  motioning  with  his  whip. 

The  dog  had  been  bounding  on  before  them,  he  had 
reached  the  edge  of  the  gleaming  water  now,  and  ran 
straight  forward,  the  shining  waves  parting  and  falling 
away  from  him  on  either  side. 

"  It  is  the  mirage,"  said  Denis  quietly  ;  "  is  it  possible 
you  did  not  know  it  ?  But  indeed  I  hardly  remember 
ever  having  seen  such  a  perfect  one  before." 

"  Mirage  !  "  she  repeated  incredulously. 

They  checked  their  horses  and  stood  still  looking  at 
it.  The  wide,  shining  expanse  of  water  lay  apparently 
but  a  stone's  throw  off,  seeming  to  gather  into  itself  and 
focus  all  the  light  of  the  day  and  sky.  "Mirage,"  said 


320  MIRAGE. 

Constance  slowly.  She  forced  a  smile,  even  tfiecf  to 
laugh,  when  Lawrence  insisted  that  they  ought  to  ride 
on  until  they  reached  the  lake,  since  that  had  been 
her  object ;  but  the  laugh  proved  a  failure  ;  there  was 
something  strangely  disconcerting  about  the  illusion 
just  then. 

"  And  I  thought  —  I  had  meant  that  to  be  the  end  of 
our  ride,"  she  said,  with  a  touch  of  superstitious  regret. 
It  was  the  merest  folly,  but  it  sufficed  to  make  her  face 
a  little  graver  as  they  turned  their  horses'  heads  home 
wards.  And  on  the  crest  of  the  hill  she  paused  and 
looked  back  at  the  still  and  glittering  phantasm  wkh  a 
sudden  shiver  of  dumb,  unreasonable  dread.  .^ 

"  Are  you  looking  for  Lione  ?  "  the  young  man  asked 
carelessly.  "  He  has  passed  us  already  ;  I  saw  him 
running  down  the  road." 

"  Oh,  he  has  learned  to  take  care  of  himself." 

She  answered  lightly,  but  it  was  not  so  easy  to  shake 
off  the  disturbing  impression.  Now,  at  this  moment, 
when  her  life  seemed  trembling  in  the  balance  for  good 
or  ill,  the  slightest  incident  —  a  word,  a  look  —  seemed 
to  have  gained  a  sudden,  vital  importance.  There  were 
no  trifles  in  Miss  Varley's  eyes  to-day.  They  went  back 
by  another  road.  The  river  had  joined  them  again  ; 
full-fed  and  swift  and  silent  beneath  its  canopy  of 
boughs.  And  now,  in  attempting  a  short  cut,  they 
passed  through  an  abandoned  Turkish  cemetery — • 
hundreds  of  ruined  stones  crowding  about  the  white- 
domed  tomb  of  a  santon.  It  was  a  singularly  deserted 
looking  place,  all  overgrown  with  thick,  rank  grass. 
A  peach-tree  leaned  its  full  and  pink-tipped  branches 
against  the -weather-beaten  grave,  and  one  small  twig 
which  had  burst  into  premature  blossom  brushed  its 
rose-colored  petals  against  Lawrence's  shoulder,  as  the 
riders  picked  their  way  between  the  fallen  stones. 

"Ah,  there  is  something  for  you.  You  must  have 
that,"  the  young  man  said,  bending  from  his  saddle. 

Flower  o'  the  peach  — 

Death  for  us  all  and  his  own  life  for  each. 


"AFTER    THREE    YEARS."  321 

"  Here,  Miss  Varley." 

She  took  the  blossoms  silently,  and  fastened  them  in 
her  dress.  They  made  a  pretty  spot  of  color  there, 
Lawrence  told  her,  glancing  back.  "  You  always  used 
to  wear  flowers.  I  never  remember  having  seen  you  at 
The  Farm  without  some  flowers  about  you.  I  always 
thought  I  had  a  good  memory  for  details,  but  I  never 
knew  how  good  it  was  until  within  these  last  few  days," 
he  said,  watching  her  curiously. 

She  caught  his  look  and  turned  her  face  away. 

"  I  remember  things  a  long  while.  We  shall  be  late, 
I  am  afraid,  Mr.  Lawrence.  You  said  the  Major  was 
to  meet  us,  I  believe  ? "  with  a  sudden  hurry  in  her 
voice. 

She  looked  down  at  her  blossoms  two  or  three  times 
as  they  cantered  along  the  road,  putting  up  her  hand 
to  touch  them.  It  was  a  long  time  since  he  had  given 
her  flowers. 

When  they  reached  the  gate  of  Ahmed's  garden  they 
both  dismounted,  Lawrence  leading  the  horses  by  their 
bridles  along  the  narrow  path.  It  was  a  large  and 
green  enclosure  which  they  now  entered  ;  a  vegetable 
garden  at  first ;  a  place  thick-set  with  apricot-trees, 
divided  into  squares  by  countless  small  channels  of 
running  water,  the  ground  quite  covered  by  thick,  dark, 
spreading  leaves.  Farther  on  was  an  open  space  of 
grass,  where  Lawrence  tethered  the  horses,  and  beyond 
that  th'e  ground  sloped  rapidly  down  to  the  river  ;  a  long, 
white  stretch  of  trees  in  fullest  bloom. 

They  took  a  path  which  led  them  to  the  water.  The 
fruit-trees  met  and  branched  above  their  heads ;  thick, 
foam-white  masses  of  cherry-blossom,  and  sturdy  apple- 
boughs,  all  clustered  over  with  crisp,  rosy  flowers,  and 
the  frail,  shivering  beauty  of  the  pear.  And  here,  in 
these  sheltered  places,  were  young  peach-trees,  with 
bare,  shining  stems,  and  here  and  there  a  single  rose- 
flushed  star ;  and  down  in  the  hollows  the  full-petalled, 
flesh-colored  quince-blossoms,  which  opened  wide  among 
the  coarser  leaves.  It  was  not  an  orchard ;  it  could  not 


322  MIRAGE. 

be  called  a  flower-garden  ;  it  was  only  a  place  ^blos 
soming —  the  home  of  all  strong,  green  things  ;  for  here 
were  broad-leaved  vines  climbing  between  the  branches, 
and  a  tangled  network  of  rose-bushes  covered  .all  over 
with  large,  green  rosebuds  streaked  with  dullest  red  ; 
and  on  the  ground  the  grass  was  gay  with  tall,  rank 
buttercups  and  the  flaunting  yellow  of  the  melon- 
flower  ;  and  by  the  edge  of  the  river  were  all  thick 
growths  of  water-plants,  and  leafy,  lisping  poplars  — 
"the  verdurous  wall  of  Paradise;"  and  everywhere 
the  clean,  moist  smell  of  the  earth,  the  feeling  of 
abundant  moving  water,  the  sense  of  exuberant  -veg 
etable  life.  V 

There  was  something  in  the  languid  softness  of  the 
air  which  made  the  slightest  movement  an  exertion. 
They  rested  now,  warm  and  breathless,  upon  a  dark, 
elastic  couch  of  lily-leaves  close  by  the  river's  brink. 
A  pale  and  silvery  sunshine  was  breaking  through  the 
clouds. 

"Listen  !  it  seems  as  though  one  could  almost  hear 
the  things  growing  in  fhis  stillness,"  Constance  said  ; 
and  then  for  several  minutes  they  were  silent,  she  fan 
ning  herself  slowly  with  a  bunch  of  the  stiff  lily-leaves, 
and  Denis  lying  upon  his  back,  his  hands  clasped 
behind  his  head,  looking  up  at  the  gray  sky  through 
the  motionless  white  boughs. 

It  was  a  delicious  moment  of  satisfied  animal  exist 
ence.  They  could  feel  themselves  living,  a  part  of  all 
the  still,  strong  life  about  them,  growing  slowly  con 
scious  of  a  hundred  well-nigh  imperceptible  sights  and 
sounds  —  the  varying  voice  of  the  water,  and  sudden 
mysterious  thrills  and  shivers  among  the  leaves,  where 
not  a  breath  of  air  was  stirring  —  a  whole  new  world 
of  noiseless  insect-existence ;  the  low,  sharp  note  of 
some  passing  bird ;  the  ceaseless  dropping  of  over 
blown  petals  into  deep  grass. 

In  the  intervals  of  sunshine  the  trees  seemed  to  grow 
larger  and  whiter. 

"  How  far  can  you  see  ? "  the  young  girl  asked,  after 


"AFTER    THREE    YEARS."  323 

a  long  pause.  "A  moment  ago  all  the  line  of  that  hill 
came  out  in  shadow,  and  there,  between  those  poplars, 
I  could  see  something  shining,  a  line  of  yellow  close 
to  the  horizon, — a  line  of  desert  sands." 

"The  desert!"  repeated  Lawrence  vaguely.  "'In 
the  desert  love  builds  triumphal  arches  out  of  the 
shifting  sands.'  That  is  a  Persian  proverb,  you  know. 
I  think,"  picking  up  a  dead  bit  of  wood  and  snapping 
it  in  two  between  his  fingers  with  a  sudden,  impatient 
recollection  of  Stuart,  "  I  think  it  is  an  everyday 
fact." 

He  tossed  the  broken  splinters  in  the  stream  and 
sat  up  abruptly.  The  charm  of  silence  'was  broken 
with  the  first  intrusion  —  even  the  imaginary  intrusion 
—  of  another  personality.  He  sat  up  now  and  talked, 
talked  to  her  witjj  an  impulse  of  confidence  which  he  had 
never  felt  but  once  before  in  his  life  towards  any  woman. 
They  spoke  of  many  things,  but  it  was  noticeable  they 
spoke  more  of  things  than  of  people  ;  of  books  which 
they  had  read  ;  of  impressions  which  they  had  received  ; 
of  a  hundred  personal  fancies  and  desires  peculiar  to 
each,  and  yet  shared  or  understood  by  the  other. 

"  You  are  the  only  person  I  ever  met  who  reminded 
me  of  my  mother,"  Lawrence  said  to  her  once.  "  No 
two  people  could  h'ave  grown  up  under  more  widely- 
differing  influences,  and  yet  there  is  something — a 
certain  quality  of  nature.  She  was,  in  one  sense  of 
the  word,  an  ignorant  woman ;  she  never  cared  for 
politics  or  literature ;  she  lived  and  died  a  fervent 
Roman  Catholic,  an  ardent  Southerner  and  believer 
in  the  divine  right  of  slavery  —  there  was  hardly  a  point 
on  which,  as  I  grew  older,  we  two  were  agreed; — and 
yet,  when  I  remember  her  now,  I  can  see  that  there 
has  never  been  a  good  impulse  in  my  life,  a  love  of  the 
beautiful,  a  recognition  of  high  purpose  in  others,  which 
I  cannot  trace  directly  to  my  mother's  influence.  She 
was  a  woman  who  evoked  goodness  in  others  as  the  sun 
brings  life  out  of  the  frozen  earth,"  he  said  slowly,  with 
a  sudden  thrill  of  emotion  in  his  well-controlled  voice. 


324  MIRAGE. 


It  was  the  first  time  since  she  had  known  hfifi-  ttiat 
Constance  had  heard  him  speak  of  his  early  life.  She 
listened  to  him  now  with  a  silent,  passionate  tenderness, 
extending  back  through  all  those  unknown  years,  for 
she  was.  curiously  ignorant  of  all  but  the  most  evident 
facts  of  that  past.  Lawrence  was  a  man  who  seldom 
spoke  of  himself ;  and  since  the  very  first  days  of  their 
acquaintance,  in  speaking  to  others,  his  name  had  never 
crossed  her  lips. 

As  he  talked  to  her  now  of  those  old  boyish  days, 
he  seemed,  with  every  careless,  familiar  detail,  to  grow 
nearer  and  more  inexpressibly  dear ;  and  at  every  word 
she  shrank  more  into  herself,  growing  more  reserved; and 
silent.  She  had  been  used  to  think  of  him  as  of  an 
ideal,  isolated,  away  from  the  contact  of  common  as 
sociations  and  ties ;  and  this  new  aspect  of  his  life 
impressed  her  with  a  curious  sense  of  bewilderment ; 
it  seemed  so  full  and  self-sufficing  an  existence,  and 
she  so  much  a  stranger  to  it  all. 

She  had  asked  him  some  question  about  his  mother. 

"The  girls  —  my  sisters  —  were  never  so  intimate 
with  her,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  know  how  it  was,  but  in 
some  way  we  two  always  seemed  to  belong  more  par 
ticularly  to  one  another.  Long  after  I  was  grown  up 
we  were  in  the  habit  of  going  off  constantly  on  expe 
ditions,  travelling,  amusing  ourselves  together,  until  I 
was  quite  a  young  man,  until "  (with  a  sudden  effort) 
"I  married." 

She  bent  her  head,  keeping  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the 
water.  "  Yes,"  she  said  gravely,  "  I  know." 

But  there  had  been  something  in  the  words  which 
jarred  upon  them  both.  The  girl  rose  hastily  a  moment 
after.  "  If  we  should  miss  the  Major !  You  told  him 
to  meet  us  at  the  gate  yonder,"  in  a  tone  which  seemed 
to  put  an  end  to  the  discussion. 

She  followed  him  silently  to  the  gate.  It  was  some 
thing  which  she  had  never  felt  before  —  this  dumb  and 
burning  passion.  They  had  never  hitherto  been  thrown 
into  close  enough  personal  relations  to  evoke  a  feeling 


"AFTER   THREE    YEARS:1  325 

of  jealousy,  but  now —  Her  hand  trembled  at  his  touch 
as  he  helped  her  into  the  saddle,  but  the  eyes  which 
met  his  glance  were  steady  as  ever  and  unspeakably 
sad.  It  was  a  look  he  remembered  long  after ;  at  the 
moment  it  had  slipped  aside,  crowded  out  of  mind  by 
the  merest  detail  of  fact.  For  the  Major  was  nowhere 
to  be  seen. 

"  If  you  really  care  about  meeting  him,  we  might 
walk  our  horses  back  as  far  as  the  cross-roads.  He 
is  after  his  time  now.  We  are  sure  to  find  him  at 
the  turning." 

They  started  back  accordingly.  The  day  had  grown 
darker ;  the  uniform,  gray  sky  was  parting  now,  torn 
into  jagged,  flying  strips  of  cloud.  "  A  sea-sky,  that," 
Lawrence  remarked  idly,  glancing  up  at  the  hurrying 
and  vexed  mists.  The  words  seemed  to  bring  back 
some  other  recollection. 

"  I  had  a  letter  from  a  friend  of  mine.  You  have 
been  at  Nahant,  Miss  Varley?"  looking  at  her  with 
a  new  attention. 

"Yes." 

"  You  went  a  good  deal  into  society  there  ?  You  knew 
a  great  many  people  ?  " 

"  I  was  staying  with  my  aunt  last  summer.  Yes,  we 
went  out  a  great  deal.  I  did  not  like  it,"  she  said 
indifferently. 

"  I  had  a  letter  from  a  man  there,  a  day  or  two  ago. 
I  daresay  you  know  him  —  Morris  Stuyvesant.  He  and 
I  are  rather  old  friends." 

It  amused  him  for  the  moment  to  see  the  effect  of 
his  words  in  the  sudden  color  which  flushed  across  her 
cheek.  But  she  answered  with  the  simple  straight 
forwardness  which  gave  a  purpose  and  a  meaning  to 
her  slightest  word.  "  I  did  know  Mr.  Stuyvesant.  He 
is  a  friend  of  my  aunt's.  I  should  not  have  thought," 
looking  at  him  gravely,  "  that  you  would  have  made 
Mr.  Stuyvesant  a  friend  of  yours." 

He  did  not  reply  at  once,  and  when  he  did  it  was  only 
to  say  quietly,  "  One  has  to  know  all  kinds  of  men.  I  've 


326  MIRAGE. 

~¥-^   *" 
seen  a  great  many  worse  fellows  than  Stuyvesant,"  but 

he  was  annoyed  at  himself  all  the  same  ;  he  felt  fastid 
iously  irritated  at  the  thought  of  having  introduced 
this  stranger's  name  between  them.  It  suited  him  for 
the  moment  to  ignore  every  thing  but  the  pleasure  of 
this  frank,  responsive  companionship ;  and  already  a 
dozen  things  had  occurred  since  they  started  to  remind 
him  of  the  limitations  set  all  about  their  intercourse. 
This  one  spring  afternoon  might  be  all  that  they  should 
know  of  each  other  for  years,  he  thought  regretfully ; 
for  as  Mr.  Stuart's  wife —  And  then  he  looked  away 
across  the  opening  fields  before  them.  But  was  it  frue  ? 
he  asked  himself.  Was  it?  ••- 

"  If  you  don't  mind  waiting  here  a  moment,  the 
Major  is  sure  to  join  us  now  in  a  minute  or  two,"  he 
said  aloud  ;  "  and  meanwhile  I  might  get  my  drawing." 

He  drew  a  small  sketch-book  out  of  his  pocket  as  he 
spoke.  They  had  halted  at  the  turning  of  two  roads. 
Behind  them  lay  the  foamy  sea  of  blossoms,  before  them, 
the  bare  and  melancholy  plain  stretched  to  the  city- 
walls.  The  tepid,  fitful  wind  blowing  across  these  open 
spaces  came  to  them  sweet  with  inexplicable  sweetness, 
and  faint  with  all  the  languor  of  the  spring.  It  was  the 
hour  for  sunset,  but  the  sad,  gray  sky  hung  pale  and 
irresponsive  above  the  empty  plain.  It  was  only  far  off 
and  low  down  by  the  horizon  that  a  warmer  flush  —r-  a 
color  pale  as  the  later  crocus  which  comes  with  the 
autumn  skies  —  showed  where  the  day  was  dying  slowly 
behind  the  shadowy  hills. 

Denis  had  nearly  finished  his  sketch.  He  lingered 
over  his  work  for  a  moment,  looking  up  from  his  draw 
ing  at  the  pure  and  noble  outline  of  the  face  before  him. 
In  those  few  days  it  had  already  become  associated  in 
his  mind  with  some  of  the  loveliest  things  in  Nature, 
—  with  soft  and  limpid  skies,  spring  winds,  and  all  the 
large  and  liberal  stirring  of  life  about  the  new-born 
year.  But  now  he  looked  at  her  with  something  of  a 
more  personal  feeling;  with  an  irritated  chafing  at  the 
very  vagueness  of  their  relations,  with  a  sudden  desire 


"AFTER   THREE    YEARS."  327 

to  break  out  of  this  charmed  space  of  silence  into  what 
ever  of  real  life  for  good  or  ill  might  lie  beyond.  His 
journey,  his  plans,  his  intentions,  had  sunk  into  the  in 
significance  of  a  dream.  All  the  refining  of  sentiment, 
the  hesitation  which  was  natural  to  him  had  abandoned 
him  at  this  moment.  The  whole  world  seemed  to  have 
narrowed  down  to  this  ;  an  open  plain,  a  sad,  spring 
twilight,  and  the  face  of  this  silent  girl. 

But  he  made  an  effort  to  speak  in  his  ordinary  tone. 
"You  have  forgotten  that  I  had  something  of  yours  all 
this  time,  and  yet  I  think  it  is  something  you  care  for/ 
putting  his  hand  in  his  breast-pocket  and  drawing  out 
her  amber  beads.  "  You  will  let  me  put  them  on  for 
you  ? "  His  own  voice  sounded  to  him  uncertain  and 
strange.  She  held  out  her  bared  wrist  without  speaking, 
and  he  wound  the  string  of  beads  about  it  awkwardly, 
his  fingers  growing  suddenly  irresolute  as  they  touched 
the  firm  white  skin. 

She  drew  back  shivering.     "  I  think —  I  mean  —  " 

She  turned  her  head  abruptly,  put  out  her  hand  and 
picked  a  leaf  from  off  the  nearest  branch,  and  looked  at 
it,  and  threw  it  away. 

There  was  a  long  silence  after  this.  He  was  sitting 
with  his  hand  upon  the  crutch  of  her  saddle.  From  far 
down  the  darkening  road  came  the  muffled  clatter  of 
horsemen  riding  fast ;  their  own  horses  stirred  uneasily 
at  the  sound,  pricking  up  their  ears,  with  a  low  whinny 
of  expectation.  "  I  hear  some  one  coming,"  said  Con 
stance  beneath  her  breath. 

He  did  not  heed  her  speaking.  "  I  want  to  ask  you 
something,"  he  said  irresolutely.  He  passed  his  hand 
quickly  over  his  face  and  looked  at  her.  "  I  ought  not 
to  have  spoken  to  you  about  Stuyvesant.  I  knew  that 
you  had  refused  to  marry  him.  I  thought  1  would  like 
to  ask  you  why  —  if  it  was,  because — "  To  save  his 
life  he  could  not  have  mentioned  Stuart's  name  at 
that  moment.  "Do  you  love  any  one  else?"  he  said 
brusquely,  with  a  sudden  determination  to  face  and 
know  the  truth. 


328  MIRAGE. 

She  shivered  again  as  though  the  wind  had  IStru'ck 
her.  For  three  years  she  had  waited  for  some  such 
moment,  and  now  words  failed  her ;  she  tried  to  speak, 
and  felt  her  lips  tremble.  She  could  not  look  at  him  ; 
and  now  did  he  not  understand  ?  And  then  through  the 
silence  she  heard  the  measured  hoof-beats  coming 
nearer  and  nearer. 

"  I  did  not  marry  Mr.  Stuyvesant,"  repeating  his 
words  blindly,  "  because  I  loved  some  one  else.  Be 
cause  —  It  is  three  years  now  —  three  years  —  " 

"  That  you  love  Stuart  ?  I  knew  it !  "  He  spoke 
the  words  out  sharply,  putting  up  his  hand  as  though  to 
prevent  her  saying  them.  "I  think —  God  kncjys," 
with  a  sudden,  generous  effort,  "  I  hope  you  will  both  be 
happy.  He  —  he  is  a  good  fellow,  Stuart.  He  deserves 
his  luck."' 

He  was  careful  not  to  look  at  her  as  he  spoke,  keep 
ing  his  face  turned  towards  the  approaching  riders, 
jealously  careful  of  any  thing  which  might  cast  so 
much  as  a  shadow  over  the  happy  unconsciousness  of 
her  love.  Every  tender,  every  chivalric  instinct  in  his 
nature  had  been  touched  by  the  brave  simplicity  of  her 
confession.  He  was  silent  now  until  he  could  com 
mand  his  voice  fully.  "  That  is  the  Major  and  Hassan,  of 
course  ;  but  I  cannot  make  out  the  third  figure,"  he  said. 

The  men  were  drawing  rapidly  nearer,  and  now  the 
Major  raised  his  hat  to  Constance. 

"  So  sorry  to  have  kept  you  waiting,"  his  kindly  old 
voice  ringing  cheerily  through  the  twilight ;  "  but  I 
bring  news,  Lawrence.  You  're  under  marching  orders 
again,  my  boy,"  bringing  up  his  horse  alongside  of  them. 
"  Here,  Mustapha,  Selim  —  what  the  deuce  is  the  fel 
low's  name  ?  Give  us  a  look  at  that  paper." 

The  third  rider  was  Lawrence's  own  servant,  the  little 
Jew  boy,  muffled  in  an  Arab  cloak.  He  came  up  now 
at  a  canter,  waving  a  letter  above  his  head  :  "  From  my 
Lord  Ahmed,  O  Howadji." 

The  young  man  glanced  over  the  scrawl  eagerly. 

"  Oh,  it 's  too  late  to  read  that  now,"  the  Major  said ; 


"AFTER    THREE    YEARS."  329 

"  why  you  'd  require  an  hour  to  figure  out  those  hiero 
glyphics  ;  but  we  Ve  brought  the  gist  of  it  with  us,  my 
boy.  They  are  in  a  dreadful  state  of  excitement  about 
you  down  there  at  the  hotel.  You  haven't  a  moment  to 
lose,  you  know,  for  your  caravan  starts  for  Bagdad,  or 
the  Mountains  of  the  Moon,  or  wherever  else  you  are 
going,  to-night.  That 's  what  you  call  short  notice,  eh, 
Constance?  But  it's  nothing  to  what  we  were  used  to 
in  the  old  army  days." 

The  girl  was  looking  down  vacantly  at  the  reins  be 
tween  her  fingers.  She  gathered  them  tighter  together 
now.  "  I  think  we  had  better  ride  fast  to  the  hotel. 
Mr.  Lawrence  will  be  hurried,"  in  a  subdued,  monoto 
nous  voice. 

The  Major  laughed.  "  As  practical  as  ever,  Con 
stance  !  But  you  are  quite  right." 

"Come  along,  Lawrence;  Constance  is  right  —  you 
haven't  a  moment  to  lose.  And  you  '11  see  that  I  shall 
be  the  only  one  to  say  I  mean  to  miss  you,"  turning 
his  horse's  head  about  with  his  shrewd,  good-humored 
laugh. 

It  was  not  twenty  minutes'  hard  riding  to  the  hotel- 
door.  The  courtyard  was  full  of  men  when  they  en 
tered.  Old  Ahmed  had  sent  messenger  after  messenger, 
and  there  was  a  sudden  chatter  of  excited  voices,  a 
sudden  pressing  forward  of  urgent  hands  as  Lawrence 
dismounted  from  his  horse.  He  put  them  all  aside 
impatiently,  helping  Constance  out  of  the  saddle,  and 
following  her  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs  without  a  word. 

"  I  'm  sorry,  very  sorry,  to  say  good-by  to  you,"  he 
said  simply. 

It  was  growing  dark  in  this  walled-in  place  ;  one  of 
the  last  comers  had  brought  with  him  a  lantern  ;  the 
light  flashed  for  an  instant  across  the  girl's  white  and 
rigid  face,  and  then  he  could  see  nothing  more  but  the 
silhouette  of  her  figure  relieving  darkly  against  the  wall. 

"  Come  on,  Lawrence !  Look  sharp  about  it,  and  I 
shall  have  time  to  ride  round  and  see  you  fairly  off 
before  dinner." 


330  MIRAGE. 

She  put  out  her'  hand  with  a  sudden  movement  n  I 
hope  you  will  be  very  happy,  Mr.  Lawrence.  Good-by." 

He  bent  down  over  her  hand  and  kissed  it,  but  I 
think  she  was  hardly  conscious  of  it  at  the  time.  She 
turned,  and  left  him  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  stair, 
and  looking  after  her  as  she  had  left  him  once  before, 
but  with  what  a  difference  ! 

Mrs.  Thayer  was  passing  down  the  upper  gallery. 
The  girl  stopped  and  spoke  to  her.  "  Yes,  a  very 
pleasant  ride,  thank  you.  Mr.  Lawrence  is  going, 
Fanny,  if  you  care  to  say  good-by." 

"  What !  going  away  ?  " 

She  looked  back  and  nodded  without  speaking.  'The 
door  of  her  room  was  standing  open ;  she  went  in  sud 
denly,  and  closed  and  locked  this  door  behind  her. 
Her  room  was  in  the  front  of  the  house  ;  her  window 
was  still  open  as  she  had  left  it  that  morning  ;  she  could 
hear  the  sound  of  the  men's  voices,  the  clatter  of  hoofs 
upon  the  pavement  below. 

She  crossed  over  slowly  to  where  her  small  travelling- 
trunk  had  been  thrown  in  one  corner,  bending  over  it, 
and  opening  it  with  a  curious  deliberation.  She  took 
out  a  small,  sealed  package  and  laid  it  upon  the  table, 
and  then  she  lighted  a  candle,  her  gloved  hands  begin 
ning  to  tremble  a  little,  so  that  she  had  to  strike  three 
or  four  matches  before  she  could  get  one  to  burn. 

She  tore  off  the  paper  covering  and  took  out  of  it  a 
journal.  There  were  some  loose  papers,  a  sketch,  a 
photograph  lying  upon  it ;  but  these  she  put  carefully  to 
one  side,  tearing  out  each  leaf  of  the  book  methodically, 
and  holding  it  over  the  flame  until  it  curled  and  crum 
bled  into  ashes  between  her  fingers.  And,  last  of  all, 
she  took  up  the  photograph.  The  fire  charred  and 
blackened  it  along  the  edges  ;  she  let  it  fall  ;  she  drew 
a  long  breath,  leaning  hard  against  the  table,  and  then 
for  the  first  time  she  lifted  up  her  eyes  and  saw  herself 
in  the  glass. 

"  After  three  years  !  " 

She  looked  down  at  her  hands,  and  began  to  pull  off 


THE   LAST  LOOK  BACK.  331 

the  blackened  gloves  nervously.  The  room  was  full  of 
smoke  and  the  pungent  smell  of  burning  paper.  She 
looked  over  at  the  window,  through  which  the  smoke 
was  floating  slowly  out  and  melting  into  the  quiet  gray 
of  the  evening. 

"  After  three  years  !  "  she  repeated  again  slowly,  look 
ing  down  with  a  pitiful  laugh  at  the  dust  of  crumpled 
ashes  on  the  floor.  And  then  for  a  few  minutes  she 
ceased  to  think  at  all,  standing  there  quite  motionless 
long  after  the  last  red  sparkle  of  fire  had  died  away,  and 
the  last  glimmer  of  light  had  sunk  into  ashes  and  dust. 


CHAPTER     XXVII. 

THE     LAST     LOOK      BACK. 

DURING  the  week  which  followed,  Ferris  saw  a 
good  deal  of  Miss  Varley. 

By  his  quiet  attention  he  managed  very  often  to  keep 
her  occupied  —  shielded  from  the  questions  and  ob 
servations  of  her  aunt ;  and  in  thinking  of  these  sad 
old  days  of  her  youth,  she  has  often  had  occasion  to 
remember  and  be  grateful  for  an  unobtrusive  kindness 
of  which  at  the  time  she  was  hardly  aware. 

The  Major,  too,  was  very  good  to  her.  How  much 
he  understood  or  had  guessed  of  her  story,  Constance 
never  knew  —  she  never  cared  to  ask.  She  accepted 
whatever  came  to  her  in  those  days  with  a  silent  and 
well-nigh  dogged  endurance,  which  rarely  looked  beyond 
the  matter  in  hand. 

Mrs.  Thayer  may  have  noticed  that  she  was  a  trifle 
thinner  and  paler  and  more  quiet  than  usual.  Mrs. 
Van  Ness  patted  her  upon  the  shoulder  and  spoke  of 
Constantinople.  "  When  your  nice  young  friend,  Mr. 
Stuart,  returns  from  Baalbeck,  my  dear  —  "  And  both 
of  them  reioiced  in  private  over  this  most  fortunate 


332  MIRAGE. 

turn  of  affairs,  discussing  the  girl's  possible  disappoint 
ment  placidly,  with  essentially  feminine  scepticism. 
And  then  they  spoke  eagerly  of  her  probable  establish 
ment,  and  criticised  the  Stuart  family  at  large,  and  were 
both  of  them  as  sincerely  glad  as  they  were  both,  in 
their  different  degrees,  sincerely  fond  of  Constance. 

"  If  only  Tom  does  not  spoil  it  all  with  his  foolish 
ness  ! "  Fanny  sighed. 

It  was  just  a  week  after  Lawrence's  departure,  and 
the  Major  had  taken  Constance  out  for  a  ride.  They 
had  gone  again  to  Ahmed's  garden. 

When  they  reached  the  cross-roads  the  Major  had 
proposed  taking  another  direction.  + 

"I  should  like  to  go  back  to  where  —  to  where  we 
rode  a  few  days  ago,"  the  girl  answered  steadily. 

"  As  you  please,  my  dear,"  turning  about  his  horse's 
head  with  as  much  wonder  over  feminine  perversity  as 
could  well  be  expected  of  a  married  man  with  a  taste 
for  philosophy. 

And  when  they  had  reached  the  gate,  he  let  her  go  in 
alone. 

"  I  shall  stay  here  and  sketch,"  rubbing  his  short 
gray  beard  doubtfully.  He  called  her  back  again  as 
she  was  turning  away.  "  Don't  stay  too  long  on  the 
damp  grass  by  that  river,  child.  It's  unhealthy  —  low, 
marshy  ground.  The  whole  country  seems  designed  for 
frogs  or  angels.  It 's  no  place  for  human  beings  subject 
to  rheumatism,"  fitting  his  palette  leisurely  across  his 
strong,  large  hand. 

But  there  was  no  smile  on  his  vigilant  face  as  he 
watched  her  pass  quietly  out  of  sight  between  the  rose 
bush  hedges.  He  looked  after  her  with  a  rough  tender 
ness  which  would  rather  have  astonished  Fanny. 

"  Poor  little  girl !  "  he  said,  shaking  his  grizzled  head 
thoughtfully.  It  is  possible  that  his  thoughts  had  wan 
dered  back  to  a  time  when  he  too  was  young  and  most 
miserable.  "  If  she  could  only  know  for  how  short  a 
time  it  makes  a  difference,"  he  said,  and  fell  to  painting 
philosophically, — life  being  brief,  and  moist  water- 


THE  LAST  LOOK  BACK.       333 

colors  a  precarious  possession  at  best  in  such  a 
climate. 

It  was  a  sea-blue  summer  day.  There  was  nothing 
about  her  but  had  undergone  some  change  since  the 
last  time  Constance  had  walked  between  these  hedges. 
The  ineffable  hesitation  of  the  spring-time  had  vanished. 
Every  note  of  color  was  accentuated.  The  trees  cast 
a  deeper  shadow  across  the  path ;  the  soft  new  grass 
was  brilliant  with  new  flowers ;  the  reign  of  the  blos 
soms  was  over,  and  in  their  place  a  thousand  small 
green  leaves  were  glistening  in  the  sun.  Already  there 
was  a  new,  full  breath  of  opening  roses  upon  the  drier 
air. 

It  was  only  down  by  the  river  that  nothing  was 
altered,  —  neither  the  swift,  smooth,  abundant  flowing 
of  the  water,  nor  the  strong,  thick  growth  of  the  water- 
plants,  nor  the  bitter  smell  of  beds  of  lily-leaves.  She 
sat  down  under  the  same  old  poplar-tree  ;  a  ray  of  sun 
light  slipped  between  '  its  branches,  and  the  restless 
movement  of  the  foliage  kept  a  perpetual  play  of  light 
leaf-shadows  dancing  about  her  hands  and  hair.  She 
could  not  have  told  herself  what  motive  had  prompted 
her  to  revisit  this  place ;  only,  through  all  the  dreary 
days  and  nights  through  which  she  had  been  living,  she 
had  been  haunted  by  a  restless  desire  to  come  here 
once  again  ;  and  now  she  drew  a  deep  breath,  and 
looked  about  her  with  the  air  of  a  person  who  has 
accomplished  some  purpose. 

She  leaned  her  face  upon  her  hand  and  closed  her 
eyes  like  one  physically  tired.  And  she  was  weary 
enough,  poor  child  !  weary  of  effort  —  of  long  and  loyal 
and  fruitless  effort  —  and  weary  above  all  of  idle  ques 
tioning  of  fate.  It  might  be  easy  now  to  see  how  all 
this  could  have  been  averted  ;  but  even  now,  when  she 
thought  of  it,  her  silence  towards  Lawrence  seemed  to 
her  to  have  been  the  one  inevitable  fact,  the  only  thing 
she  could  have  done,  the  one  moment  to  which  she 
looked  back  with  a  sort  of  despairing  pride.  For  he 
had  congratulated  her  upon  her  marriage  with  Stuart. 


334  MIRAGE. 

He  had  congratulated  her !  —  closing  her  hands*"ha'rd 
one  upon  the  other,  and  looking  down  at  them  with  a 
pitiful  laugh. 

And  then  for  a  moment  all  thought  of  self  was  swept 
away  in  one  passionate  revulsion  of  feeling,  —  in  one 
wild  desire  to  see  him,  to  be  with  him,  to  speak  to  him 
again,  to  see  him  for  one  moment. 

She  did  not  cry,  —  these  long  years  of  repression, 
this  life-long  habit  of  self-control,  stood  her  now  in 
good  stead  ;  but  she  turned  and  pressed  her  cheek 
against  the  rough  bark  of  the  tree.  He  had  leaned 
there  beside  her  only  a  week  ago.  She  put  up -her 
hand  to  her  throat  helplessly,  her  blue  eyes  growing 
dark  and  misty  with  a  look  of  unutterable  grief.  It  was 
the  farewell  of  a  loyal  and  patient  heart,  —  dumb  and 
faithful  even  unto  death. 

For  Constance  had  made  up  her  mind  to  marry 
Stuart. 

If  she  had  not  been  thrown  into  close  personal  rela 
tion  with  Denis  Lawrence,  it  is  possible  —  it  is  probable 
—  that  the  devotion  to  this  ideal  might  have  sufficed  for 
many  years  to  fill  her  life.  But,  once  brought  near  to 
him,  the  old  barriers  broken  down,  the  girl's  clream  had 
changed  into  the  passionate  love  of  the  woman.  There 
was  no  return  possible  to  the  old  condition  of  things. 
For  she  did  love  him.  He  had  never,  perhaps,  been  so 
inexpressibly  dear  to  her  as  at  that  moment.  There  was 
not  a  look,  not  a  familiar  gesture,  the  turn  of  his  head, 
the  trick  of  his  voice,  which  she  did  not  remember  and 
go  over  again  and  look  at  with  a  passion  of  hopeless 
pain,  —  with  something,  it  may  be,  of  the  yearning 
anguish  of  a  mother  looking  upon  the  dead  face  of  her 
child.  For  it  was  not  a  common  love  this  girl  was 
losing ;  it  was  the  loyal  love  of  all  her  life,  that  had 
grown  with  her  growth,  the  ideal  of  her  existence ;  it 
was  more  than  all  this,  it  was  her  youth  which  Con 
stance  Varley  buried  that  day. 

And  she  did  love  him.  Whatever  any  one  else 
might  think  of  Lawrence,  he  was  to  her  still  what  he 


THE  LAST  LOOK  BACK.       335 

had  always  been  —  always  since  the  first  day  she  had 
known  him.  Only  then  she  had  loved  him  and  hoped, 
and  now  the  hope  was  dead. 

She  looked  down  at  the  stream  flowing  by  her  in  cool 
and  beautiful  and  unreturning  waves  ;  and  there  came 
to  her  at  that  moment  a  sudden  revelation  of  the  awful 
futility  of  all  experience,  —  the  fatal  passing  away  of 
youth  and  love,  of  sorrow  and  joy,  to  one  common  and 
swift  and  inevitable  end.  The  sunshine  shone  upon 
the  abundant  water ;  a  thrush  was  singing  rapturously 
to  its  mate  among  the  hawthorn  bushes  ;  the  full-leafed 
summer  trees  waved  in  the  warm,  still  air ;  the  sky  was 
of  a  deep  and  fleckless  blue  ;  there  was  not  an  object 
in  all  this  beautiful  world  about  her  but  rejoiced  in  the 
ample  fruition  of  its  life  :  and  for  the  first  time  she  felt 
herself  an  alien  to  it  all,  —  a  troubled  human  soul 
questioning,  and  unanswered,  and  alone. 

She  thought  of  Stuart';  the  possibility  of  making  him 
the  happier  for  her  own  existence  had  come  to  repre 
sent  to  her  the  only  significance  of  her  life.  It  was 
what  Denis's  mother  would  have  done  in  her  place,  she 
thought ;  that  woman,  "  who  was  so  sad  in  her  own  life 
she  spent  it  all  in  making  others  happy."  And  then  as 
she  repeated  the  words  she  could  almost  hear  his  voice 
saying  them,  and  then  again  it  seemed  to  her  that  she 
could  not  bear  it.  If  she  had  ever  cared  in  the  least  for 
Stuart,  if  she  had  ever  felt  the  first  spontaneous  impulse 
of  attraction  towards  him,  she  could  never  have  decided 
to  have  married  him  then.  But  the  thing  came  to  her 
as  a  sacrifice ;  she  herself  had  had  one  chance  for  hap 
piness  in  life  and  lost  it,  and  her  first  instinct  was  to  put 
out  her  hand  to  give  to  another  what  she  herself  might 
never  have. 

For  she  had  no  illusions  about  that  probable  future. 
What  life  was  coming  to  her  she  saw  and  understood, 
clearly  and  simply,  with  no  mental  reservations,  with  a 
despairing  acceptance  of  duty  and  limitation  alike. 

To  live,  to  comprehend  the  highest  beauty,  the  pro- 
foundest  significance  of  every  passing  moment*  to  know 


33^  MIRAGE. 

,___ . 

the  ecstasy  of  love  ;  to  know  the  blessedness  of  pfcsses- 
sion,  the  rare  blessedness  of  gift  —  this  is  success  in  life, 
and  this  is  happiness.  But  to  make  of  suffering  the  key 
note  to  another's  pain  ;  to  learn  from  loneliness  the  pity 
for  another's  grief ;  to  merge  all  sorrow,  all  despair,  in 
one  wide  brotherhood  of  understanding  —  surely,  this 
too  is  success. 

Success,  but  not  happiness. 

It  is  not  happiness  —  but  to  the  majority  of  human 
beings  this  absolute  personal  happiness  will  never  come. 
We  are  young,  and  the  world  is  ours  to  win  :  we  are 
older,  and  the  promise  and  the  glory,  "  all  those  things 
are  passed  away  like  a  shadow,  and  as  a  post  Jhat 
hasted  by." 

And  in  this  brief  life  we  all  die  many  times — in 
friendship  outgrown,  in  faith,  in  changed  experience. 
Surely,  they  too  may  be  called  blessed  to  whom  this 
death  comes  quickly,  to  whom  past  love  remains  ideal, 
hidden  away  safe  from  the  touch  of  time  and  change, 
deep  in  some  charmed  and  silent  space  of  life. 

But  Constance  was  rather  acting  upon  than  thinking 
of  these  things.  When,  as  she  fancied,  she  had  pre 
pared  herself  to  surrender  all  the  old  dreams,  the  old 
desires,  she  had  not  counted  upon  the  influence  of  this 
place.  It  was  here  that  she  had  come  with  Lawrence 
in  the  still,  spring  afternoon  which  already  seemed  so 
far,  so  very  far  away  ;  it  was  here  —  Her  hand  in  pass 
ing  over  her  dress  had  brushed  against  some  faded 
blossoms  still  fastened  in  it  from  the  other  day's  ride, 
and  now  the  only  thing  left  to  her  out  of  all  the  days 
that  had  been.  She  sat  looking  at  them  quietly  enough 
for  a  moment,  and  then  her  proud  lips  began  to  tremble, 
she  put  her  hands  out  with  a  passionate  gesture.  "  Oh, 
my  love  !  "  she  said  aloud,  and  the  bitter  tears  rose 
slowly  to  her  eyes,  as  she  said  it,  —  "  oh,  my  dear  love,  I 
could  have  made  you  so  happy  if  you  had  only  let  me  !  " 

And  then  through  the  murmurous  silence  of  the  sum 
mer  day,  she  heard  the  quick  tramp  of  a  man's  step 
coming  towards  her  through  the  grass.  And  then,  for 


THE  LAST  LOOK  BACK.       337 

an  instant,  she  leaned  heavily  against  the  tree,  and  her 
heart  seemed  beating  up  in  her  throat,  and  she  felt  her 
very  lips  grow  cold. 

It  was  Stuart  who  joined  her  there  under  the  poplars. 
She  knew  it  ;  she  had  known  it  all  along ;  but  she 
pressed  her  hand  hard  against  her  lip  before  she  an 
swered  him  ;  her  voice  seemed  to  have  grown  broken 
and  beyond  her  control. 

He  came  up  rapidly  and  caught  her  hands  in  his. 
"  Constance  !  " 

It  was  not  until  long  afterwards  that  he  remembered 
that  she  had  expressed  no  surprise  at  his  sudden  reap 
pearance.  "I  —  I  have  come  back,"  he  said  breath 
lessly.  "  I  couldn't  stay  away  any  longer.  And  they 
told  me  at  the  hotel  that  you  were  out  here,  and  —  It 's 
a  very  nice  place  you  've  found  here,"  without  taking  his 
eyes  off  her  face. 

"  Yes,"  said  Constance. 

"  I  saw  old  Tom  at  the  gate,  you  know.  Baalbeck  is 
a  fine  old  place,  for  a  ruin.  I  should  think  one  could 
get  a  little  shooting  out  there  occasionally  ;  we  saw  some 
partridges.  Tom  asked  me  to  tell  you  that  he  was  ready 
to  go,"  with  a  nervous  laugh. 

"  I  am  ready,"  she  answered  gravely.  And  neither  of 
them  moved. 

The  low  sunlight  shining  in  beneath  the  trees  filled  all 
the  space  about  them  with  a  reddish  glow.  He  stood  and 
looked  at  her  a  moment  in  silence  —  the  woman  he  loved. 

The  young  fellow's  voice  had  grown  unsteady  with 
excitement  as  he  repeated  her  name. 

"  Constance  !  " 

She  turned  her  head  and  waited. 

"  I  saw  Davenant  at  Baalbeck.  He  is  going  to 
Palmyra  —  " 

"  I  know." 

"  He  said  —  he  told  me  —  Lawrence  has  gone  away, 
Constance." 

She  put  her  hand  up  to  her  throat  suddenly.  "  Yes," 
in  a  sharp,  unnatural  tone.  "  He  has  gone." 


338  MIRAGE. 

He  did  not  care  for  her  manner.  It  was  the  fac^ribt 
the  words,  he  wanted.  He  came  close  by  her  now. 
Her  hand  was  hanging  by  her  side  ;  he  took  it  in  his 
and  looked  down  at  it,  lying  white  and  nerveless  in  his 
grasp.  "  I  told  you  I  should  come  back,  and  I  am  here, 
Constance,"  closing  his  ringers  slowly  over  hers  as  he 
spoke. 

She  looked  at  him  now.  "  I  will  tell  you  something. 
You  are  very  good  to  me,  Jack.  I  don't  know  why  you 
should  care  for  me.  It  is  rather  hard  to  understand 
this  life"  (with  a  little  pitiful  smile),  "  but  at  least  one 
can  be  honest.  You  say  that  —  Mr.  Lawrence  —  "  . 

He  put  out  his  other  hand  quickly.  "  Don't  speak  to 
me  of  Mr.  Lawrence,  dear.  You  need  not  tell  me.  I 
don't  want  to  know.  We  have  all  of  us  had  our  fancies 
for  other  people,  I  suppose,"  with  blunt  simplicity,  a 
kind,  sweet-tempered  look  coming  into  his  clear,  blue 
eyes.  "  I  don't  imagine  you  are  different  from  other 
people.  Heaven  knows,  I  might  not  care  to  have  to 
own  up  to  all  my  own  flirtations."  He  stopped  abruptly 
and  looked  at  her,  the  color  rising  slowly  to  his  hand 
some  face.  "  I'm  not  afraid  of  Lawrence  or  of  Stuyve- 
sant,"  with  a  delicious  thrill  of  triumph,  "  or  of  any 
other  man,  if  you  say  once  that  you  will  be  my  wife. 
I  —  You  've  got  all  my  life  in  your  hands,  Constance, 
and  for  the  rest  I  trust  you." 

There  was  a  moment  of  profound  silence,  and  then 
he  saw  her  breast  heave  suddenly. 

She  stood  up  and  turned  her  face  away,  and  loosened 
her  hands. 

"  I  have  the  right  to  say  that  you  can  trust  me  — • 
utterly,"  she  said. 

The  red  glow  of  the  sunset  was  all  about  them  now. 
He  stood  holding  her  hands  and  looking  down  at  her 
with  a  kind  of  bewildered  delight.  Jealousy,  except 
the  immediate  personal  jealousy  of  a  rival  present  in 
flesh  and  blood,  was  a  passion  absolutely  unknown  to 
Stuart ;  his  nature  was  too  objective  for  that.  Where 
Lawrence  would  have  driven  himself  mad  with  per- 


THE  LAST  LOOK  BACK.       339 

sistent  imaginings,  he  saw  nothing  bXit  the  facts  — 
her  presence. 

"  Constance  !  "  repeating  her  name  again  and  again. 
"  Constance  !  "  And  she  was  to  be  his  wife. 

And  then  I  think  it  was  that  poor  Jack  indulged  in 
the  one  piece  of  sentiment  of  his  life. 

"  Do  you  remember  that  day  on  Mount  Gerizim  ? 
You  were  very  unkind  to  me  that  day,  dearest,"  bending 
down  and  kissing  her  hair.  "  I  asked  you  to  do  a  great 
many  things  for  me  that  day,  and  you  would  not.  You 
would  not  even  give  me  the  flowers  you  wore  ;  do  you 
remember?  And 'now  you  will  give  me  this,"  touching 
the  faded  peach-blossoms  in  her  dress.  "  I  want  it  as  a 
sign  —  a  promise." 

She  looked  at  him  and  then  down  at  the  flowers.  "  I 
cannot  give  you  these,  Jack,"  she  took  them  out  of  her 
dress  and  held  them  in  her  hand  ;  "  they  are  dead." 

"  But  I  can  get  you  some  others  in  a  minute,"  said 
Stuart  eagerly.  He  swung  himself  lightly  clown  the 
bank  to  where  a  belated  cherry-tree  spread  its  white 
boughs  across  the  little  river.  The  blossoms  were  over 
blown,  and  fell  and  scattered  at  his  touch.  "  I  '11  get 
them  yet ! "  he  called  out  gaily,  trampling  in  amongst 
the  river-reeds. 

She  held  the  faded  blossoms  in  her  hand  and  looked 
at  them.  It  was  all  she  had  left.  She  crushed  them 
against  her  lips  with  a  sudden,  passionate  gesture,  and 
then  her  face  grew  quite  white  ;  she  stretched  out  her 
hand  slowly  and  let  the  poor,  dead  flower  fall  into  the 
stream.  It  caught  for  an  instant  among  the  grasses,  and 
then  the  water  seized  it  and  swept  it  out  of  sight. 

"  And  I  have  brought  you  back  nothing  but  empty 
hands,"  said  Stuart.  "The  blossoms  are  all  faded.  I 
might  have  known  it  before  I  went  after  them.  The 
spring  is  over  now." 

He  took  her  hand  in  his  and  led  her  away  through 
the  sunny  garden.  At  first  there  was  a  trampled  spot 
among  the  lily-leaves  where  their  footsteps  had  pressed, 
but  before  long  the  freshness  of  the  evening:  had  lifted 


340  MIRAGE. 

up  the  grass  ;  -the  wind  had  blown  away  the  scattered 
blossoms  by  the  river  ;  the  thrush  was  singing  once  more 
in  wild,  full-throated  rapture  —  it  was  all  as  though  they 
had  never  been. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

MIRAGE. 

SOME  two  or  three  seasons  have  passed  since  then ; 
but  there  are  still  a  good  many  people  in  London 
who  recollect  the  furore  of  admiration  which  raged  for 
awhile  in  a  certain  artistic  set  the  year  Denis  Lawrence 
brought  back  his  pictures  from  the  East.  It  is  true  that  he 
had  arrived  there  at  a  singularly  fortunate  moment,  and 
when  the  critics  were  already  beginning  to  inquire  if  there 
was  nothing  then  in  modern  art  between  the  production 
of  pictures  in  every  way  adapted  to  the  family  circle  and 
the  work  of  a  school,  the  chief  of  which  was  like  Lazarus 
—  one  risen  from  the  dead,  and  with  the  scent  of  the 
grave  about  him  ? 

Lawrence  had  not  been  in  town  a  month  before  his 
name  became  the  signal  for  discussion  in  the  studios. 
People  went  and  looked  at  his  large  picture  (the  "  Study 
of  a  Jewess  "),  and  came  away  and  shook  their  heads. 
And  all  the  men  of  genius,  who  had  ideas  they  did  not 
know  how  to  paint,  said  it  was  preposterous  ;  and  all  the 
men  of  talent,  who  knew  exactly  how  to  paint  the  ideas 
they  did  not  have,  said  it  was  rubbish.  And  then  Mr. 
Lawrence  sent  his  picture  to  the  Academy. 

It  was  accepted  ;  it  was  hung  on  the  line.  And  then 
more  people  went  and  looked  at  it ;  and  at  the  dinner 
parties,  and  between  the  entr'actes  of  the  opera,  all  the 
young  ladies  asked  their  partners  :  "  Who  is  this  Mr. 
Lawrence  ? " 

The  answer  varied.  He  came  from  New  York,  and 
had  studied  for  years  under  Gerome,  at  Paris :  you 


MIRAGE.  341 


found  that  out  by  looking  at  his  drawing.  He  came 
from  the  South,  and  had  been  a  Confederate  General. 
He  was  immensely  wealthy,  and  painted  for  his  own 
amusement.  He  had  not  a  penny  to  his  name,  poor 
devil  !  and  had  been  sent  over  by  a  charitable  associa 
tion  :  "  You  know  they  do  those  things  in  America." 

And  this  went  on  for  about  a  week. 

There  happened  to  be  at  that  time  a  young  man  writ 
ing  for  a  certain  influential  journal,  by  the  name  of 
Challoner.  He  was  an  enthusiastic  fellow,  and  very 
anxious  to  distinguish  himself ;  and  he  had  met  Law 
rence  in  Paris  and  travelled  up  to  London  with  him  by 
the  Dover  mail.  And  so  he  sat  down  and  wrote  a  re 
view  of  the  Academy  exhibition,  in  which  he  demon 
strated  to  his  own  entire  satisfaction  that  the  "  Jewess  " 
was  not  only  the  most  remarkable  picture  there,  but  one 
of  the  most  remarkable  pictures  of  modern  times.  Well, 
of  course  this  made  a  great  disturbance.  There  were 
other  articles  in  other  papers  to  prove  that  the  "  Jewess  " 
was  a  daub,  and  counter  articles  on  the  opposite  side  to 
assert  and  maintain  its  pre-eminence. 

And,  in  the  midst  of  all  this  confusion,  some  one  dis 
covered  that  the  picture  was  absolutely  not  for  sale. 

And  so  in  this  way  people  concluded  they  had  met  a 
new  genius  in  the  young  artist  —  and  an  American 
genius,  which  made  it  even  more  wonderful.  He  had 
two  reception-days  in  the  week  by  this  time  ;  his  brother 
artists  advised  him  to  go  and  study  in  Rome  ;  he  could 
have  spent  his  life  refusing  "  private  views  ;  "  in  a  word, 
his  success  was  complete. 

One  afternoon,  late  in  the  season,  a  party  of  three  or 
four  of  us  were  standing  before  Lawrence's  easel.  It 
was  the  first  time  we  had  been  thrown  together,  he  and 
I,  since  the  old  Parisian  days  ;  I  was  struck  by  the 
change  which  had  come  over  him  since  then.  He 
seemed  to  me  much  older ;  not  merely  older  in  years, 
but  in  thought,  in  feeling,  in  aim — above  all,  in  aim. 
He  had  become  at  once  more  positive  and  less  serious 
in  his  way  of  looking  at  things.  And  there  was  some- 


342  MIRAGE. 

thing  of  sadness  about  him,  too,  as  in  every  imaginative 
man  who  has  taken  his  own  measure,  and  learned  by 
experience  the  limitation  of  his  effort.  He  worked  much 
harder,  but  he  seemed  to  have  less  belief  in  his  work ; 
he  was  what  the  French  call  detache  from  many  things. 
"  I  have  missed  my  chance  somewhere,"  he  said  to  me 
one  day.  "  When  was  it  ?  I  cannot  tell  you,  but  some 
thing  assures  me  that  it  is  gone,  and  so  —  Calypso  s'esf 
consolee  du  depart  d'  Ulysse  "  (with  a  laugh)  ;  "  moi,je  me 
console  de  la  realite." 

Of  course  these  are  not  entirely  my  first  impressions, 
but  I  recollect  that  even  that  afternoon  he  seemed. to 
me  to  have  lost  to  an  extraordinary  degree  the  expe^ta- 
tion  of  life.  Lawrence  and  I  are  very  old  friends,  and  I 
confess  I  watched  him  then  with  some  curiosity. 

Challoner  was  there  too,  that  afternoon,  and  he  had 
brought  some  ladies  with  him.  I  was  introduced  to  one 
of  them,  a  Mrs.  Sinclair  ;  a  very  pretty  woman,  with 
large,  brown  eyes,  with  which  she  made  incessant  play 
while  she  was  speaking. 

"  But  of  all  the  things  you  have  shown  us,  Mr.  Law 
rence,  I  think  I  enjoy  and  covet  that  head  the  most," 
she  said  now  with  a  graceful  movement  of  her  fine 
shoulders. 

It  was  a  portrait  which  Lawrence  had  just  uncovered, 
and  for  a  moment  no  one  else  spoke. 

"  You  were  thinking  of  the  Mona  Lisa  in  that  back 
ground,  I  see,"  said  Challoner  after  an  interval  of 
silence. 

"  It  is  wonderful,  wonderful !  "  said  Mrs.  Sinclair,  under 
her  breath.  She  went  nearer,  and  looked  at  it  more 
steadily.  *"  Mr.  Lawrence,  you  read  Browning,  surely  ?" 

"Why?"  said  Denis. 

"  Don't  you  remember  it  ? "  opening  her  beautiful 
eyes  upon  him  suddenly ;  "why,  that  is  the  very  expres 
sion  Browning  speaks  of  — 

"...     only  I  discern 
Infinite  passion  and  the  pain 
Of  finite  hearts  that  yearn." 


MIRAGE.  343 

Mrs.  Sinclair's  voice  was  not  the  least  of  her  attrac 
tions,  and  after  this  little  bit  of  declamation  it  was  felt 
that  there  was  nothing  more  to  say.  Lawrence  saw  his 
visitors  safely  out  of  the  door  of  the  other  studio  and 
came  back  ;  he  found  Challoner  still  standing  before  the 
portrait,  looking  at  it  with  his  head  on  one  side,  his 
hands  in  his  pockets  whistling  softly  to  himself. 

"  I  don't  pretend  to  say  you  are  always  up  to  your 
own  mark,  Lawrence,"  he  said  argumentatively,  "  but 
when  you  do  try  for  certain  things,  by  Jove  !  there  isn't 
another  man  in  London  can  touch  you.  This  head, 
now.  There  's  a  delicacy  and  a  solidity  in  those  flesh- 
tints  ;  there  's  a  strength  and  a  sweetness  in  that  model 
ling.  Why,  it 's  enough  to  make  an  ordinary  man's 
reputation  as  a  portrait-painter.  Finish  it  for  the  next 
R.  A.,  like  a  good  fellow,  and  wori't  I  just  give  it  a  lift  ?  " 

"  I  can't.  It 's  a  portrait  taken  without  the  permission 
of  the  original,"  said  Lawrence.  "I  don't  think  it's  a 
bad  thing  myself.  But  the  original  was  better." 

He  moved  the  picture  round  into  a  more  favorable 
light,  and  then  I,  too,  began  to  look  at  it.  It  was  my 
first  impression  of  a  face  which  was  destined  to  become 
very  dear  and  very  familiar  to  me  later  on,  and  perhaps 
some  vague  presentiment  of  the  fact  made  me  examine 
it  with  more  than  ordinary  attention. 

It  was  the  life-size  study  of  a  girl's  head.  The  face 
was  slightly  turned  aside  ;  she  was  dressed  in  some  dark, 
tightly-fitting  garment,  and  the  eyes  and  forehead  were 
shaded  by  a  broad-brimmed  cavalier's  hat.  Perhaps  no 
better  idea  of  the  impression  it  produced  could  be  given 
than  by  the  lines  which  Mrs.  Sinclair  had  quoted ;  for 
there  was  a  singular  suggestion  of  sadness  about  the 
grave,  sweet  eyes  and  on  the  small,  close  mouth,  —  a  sug 
gestion  very  happily  carried  out  in  the  sentiment  of  the 
background.  Only  the  face  could  be  said  to  be  finished. 
Behind  it  was  a  slight  indication  of  pale,  luminous  sky, 
a  low  horizon,  a  gleaming  line  of  some  strange  water. 
The  whole  picture  was  full  of  this  curious  reflected  light. 
The  hands  and  the  lower  part  of  the  figure  were  roughly 


344  MIRAGE. 

blocked  out,  and  it  was  characteristic  of  Denis "*tha*t 
he  had  left  the  lower  part  of  his  canvas  still  un 
covered. 

"  There  is  something  curious  about  that  sketch,"  he 
said  now,  looking  at  it  meditatively.  "  There  are  days 
when  I  hate  it,  and  have  to  turn  it  to  the  wall  not  to  run 
my  palette-knife  through  it.  There  are  days  when  it 
stares  at  me  like  a  material  reproach,  the  visible  sign  of 
my  falling  off." 

He  took  a  turn  up  and  down  the  studio.  "Talk 
about  knowledge  and  all  that  sort  of  stuff,"  he  began 
again,  stopping  in  front  of  the  picture,  "  why,  there,  is 
more  in  that  head  —  more  expressed,  not  worked  out, 
mind  you  —  than  I  can  reach  again  by  studying  twenty 
years  for  it.  The  thing  is  an  accident,  the  mere  expres 
sion  of  an  influence,"' he  said  moodily;  "it  isn't  a 
measure  of  my  work." 

"  But,  my  dear  boy,  all  you  have  got  to  do  is  to 
fall  in  love  with  your  next  model,  if  you  can  only 
paint  by  inspiration  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,"  said 
Challoner. 

I  happened  to  be  looking  at  Denis,  and  I  saw  him 
change  color  at  the  speech. 

"Confound  your  falling  in  love!"  he  said  hastily; 
"  you  don't  suppose  I  was  ever  in  love  with  that  girl, 
do  you  ? "  He  bent'  down  and  looked  more  closely  at 
the  portrait  "  She  is  married  now,"  he  said.  "  It 's 
three  years  or  more  since  that  head  was  painted,  and 
full  two  years  since  I  saw  the  notice  of  her  wedding  in 
an  old  newspaper.  I  remember  I  was  at  Bagdad  at 
the  time." 

The  girl's  face  interested  me,  and  I  asked  who  it 
was  she  had  married. 

"A  man  by  the  name  of  Stuart.  A  good  sort  of 
fellow,  too ;  but  with  about  as  many  brains  as  your 
little  finger,  and  rather  less  imagination.  From  some 
thing  she  told  me  one  day  —  the  very  day  I  got  the 
hint  for  that  portrait,  by-the-way  —  I  imagine  she  had 
been  in  love  with  him  for  some  time  —  for  several  years, 


MIRAGE.  345 

in  fact.  I  suppose  she  thought  him  handsome  —  and 
so  he  was  ;  but  a  man  of  that  calibre  can  only  be 
interesting  while  he  is  desperately  in  love.  In  the 
ordinary  wear  and  tear  of  life —  Ah,  well!  'Allah 
is  great,  no  doubt,  and  Juxtaposition  his  prophet!'' 

"  Well,  I  don't  know.  I  should  not  have  thought 
that  girl  would  have  made  that  kind  of  mistake,"  said 
Challoner  thoughtfully.  "  Why,"  looking  up  from  his 
cigar  with  a  yawn,  "  why,  she  would  have  done  better 
to  have  taken  a  fancy  to  you,  Lawrence." 

"  Ah,  well !  but  then  you  see  she  never  did,"  lightly. 
"But  I  think,"  said  Lawrence,  with  sudden  seriousness, 
"  I  think  she  had  one  of  the  noblest  natures  it  has  ever 
been  my  privilege  to  meet." 

We  spoke  of  something  else  after  that ;  Lawrence 
wanted  me  to  go  and  dine  with  him  at  his  club,  I 
remember. 

"  I  won't  promise  you  any  thing  particularly  won 
derful  in  the  way  of  a  dinner ;  they  are  getting 
deuced  careless  with  their  cooking  of  late :  but  old 
Ferris  will  be  there,"  he  said,  "and  another  man  I 
want  you  to  meet  —  a  capital  fellow  I  knew  in  the 
East.  I  know  you  will  like  him  —  a  man  by  the  name 
of  Davenant." 

It  was  only  as  we  were  all  going  out  of  the  studio 
together  that  Challoner  spoke  of  the  picture  again. 

"  You  can  say  what  you  like,  Lawrence,  but,  by  Jove  ! 
I  stick  to  my  own  opinion,"  he  said  doggedly,  stopping 
to  take  a  last  look  at  the  portrait  of  Constance.  "  I  '11 
bet  you  a  hundred  pounds  that  such  a  face  was  never 
intended  to  belong  to  a  woman  without  a  name  and 
a  history !  " 

"  Then  you  would  lose  your  money,  my  dear  fel 
low,  let  me  tell  you,"  Lawrence  answered  carelessly. 
"As  for  the  name,  if  I  ever  decide  to  finish  it,  I 
shall  call  it  '  Mirage ; '  but  it  is  a  face  without  a 
history." 

The  door  shut  noisily  behind  them,  filling  the  empty 
old  house  with  a  hollow,  echoing  sound.  And  then  the 


346 


MIRAGE. 


room  grew  very  quiet.  For  a  little  while  the~»pate 
afternoon  light  made  a  glimmering  space  about  the 
window,  the  color  slowly  fading  out  of  picture  and 
carpet  and  stuff.  It  lingered  for  a  moment  more  on 
the  sad,  sweet  face  of  Constance,  and  then  that  too 
faded  away  into  the  deepening  night. 


NO    NAME    SERIES. 


FROM    THE    -LIBRARY   TABLE." 

An  Extract  from  a  Review  of  the  "No  Name  Series." 

"  That  novel-readers  are  yearly  growing  more  appreciative,  more  critical,  is 
an  acknowledged  fact ;  and  it  is  a  question  deserving  of  some  consideration, 
whether  the  tendency  of  certain  publishing  firms  to  embody  all  the  works  of 
fiction  issued  by  them  in  one  or  more  series,  —  that  is,  in  similar  size  and  bind 
ing,  with  some  attractive  general  title,  —  is  not  a  movement  having  for  its  root 
an  increasing  and  more  dainty  appetite  for  the  best  light  literature.  Of  course, 
the  desire  of  publishers  to  reduce  to  a  minimum  the  cost  of  production  must 
be  taken  into  consideration.  ...  In  these  pretty,  uniform  volumes,  this  end 
is  attained ;  while  the  artistic  designs  of  the  cover,  and  the  similarity  of  size 
and  color,  which,  though  objectionable  to  the  epicurean  bibliophile,  is  apt  to 
appeal  pleasurably  to  the  taste  of  the  many,  are,  or  should  be  in  themselves, 
guarantees  that  the  contents  must  be  above  the  average  to  be  worthy  of  a  debut 
in  so  dainty  a  form. 

"  One  of  the  most  consistent  and  appreciative  efforts  in  this  line  is  the  '  No 
Name  Series  '  of  Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers  ;  consistent,  because  the  tacit  agree 
ment  that  each  issue  should  be  of  the  best  literary  merit  has,  in  this  instance, 
and  thus  far,  been  faithfully  adhered  to  ;  it  is  not  as  yet  numerically  strong  ;  it 
numbers  but  eight  volumes,  but  among  the  eight  there  is  not  one  that  has  not 
deserved  and  received  its  meed  of  praise.  And  that  there  has  not  been  lacking 
among  them  sufficient  variety  of  style  and  diversity  of  talent,  the  three  volumes 
which  have  served  to  give  subject  to  this  article  ('  A  Modern  Mephistopheles,' 
'  Afterglow,'  '  Hetty's  Strange  History  '),  and  which  are  the  latest  issues  of  this 
series,  will  sufficiently  attest :  three  novels  more  dissimilar  in  method  and  in 
treatment  it  would  be  difficult  to  cite." 

FOR   A   LIST   OF   THE    "  No    NAME   SERIES,"    SEE    NEXT   PAGE. 


THE    "NO    NAME    SERIES." 


A  MODERN   MEPHISTOPHEtES. 

"  It  is  decidedly  the  best  novel  of  the  series,  thus  far.  .  .  .  The  leading  idea  of  'A 
Modern  Mephistopheles'  is  ingenious.  The  characters  are  skilfully  chosen  to  repre 
sent  it :  the  one  secret  in  the  story  is  beyond  the  guessing  of  most  readers,  and 
admirably  concealed  until  the  true  moment  for  its  disclosure;  and  the  denouement  is 
as  satisfactory  as  we  could  expect.  Helwyze,  like  Goethe's  Mephistopheles,  wills  the 
bad  and  works  the  good :  the  justice  of  Fate  falls  upon  him,  and  not  upon  his  victim. 
But  this  is  the  only  point  of  resemblance.  Gladys,  although  occupying  the  place  of 
Margaret,  is  an  entirely  different  creature,  and  it  is  the  best  success  of  the  author's 
art  that  she  is  more  real  to  us  than  the  other  three  characters.  The  work  belongs  to 
the  class  of  imaginative  fiction  which  claims  its  right  to  dispense  with  probability  or 
even  strict  dramatic  consistency.  It  cannot  be  measured  by  the  standard  which  we 
apply  to  novels  of  society  or  of  ordinary  human  interests,  but  rather  by  th^t  which 
belongs  to  poetry."  — New  York  Tribune,  , 

"  The  latest  issue  of  the  '  No  Name  '  Series  claims  precedence  not  only  because  it 
is  the  freshest  novelty,  but  through  an  excellence  that  places  it  readily  first.  Consid 
ered  alike  for  its  interest  as  a  tale  and  for  its  elegance  of  literary  art,  it  is  a  work  that 
alone  will  give  distinction  to  the  series.  The  plot  is  peculiarly  novel  in  its  details  if  not 
in  its  general  conception  ;  and  throughout  the  story  the  most  pervading  impression  is 
that  of  the  freshness — not  crudeness,  but  the  freshness  of  mature  thought  —  which 
it  everywhere  carries.  .  .  .  The  title  is  but  a  hint.  It  is  no  revamping  of  Goethe's 
story  of  Faust,  nor  a  plagiarism  of  ideas  in  any  form  ;  unless  the  central  thought,  of 
the  '  woman-soul  that  leads  us  upward  and  on,'  which  is  common  to  romantic  as  to 
psychological  fiction,  may  be  considered  such.  The  characters  are  drawn  with  a 
sharp  outline,  standing  forth  as  distinctly  individual  as  the  etchings  of  Retzsch  ;  and 
for  symmetry  and  consistency,  in  every  word  and  every  action  which  the  author  makes 
them  think,  speak,  or  do,  they  are  thoroughly  admirable  creations.  Four  figures  only 
appear  in  the  action  on  this  little  stage;  and  the  story,  when  analyzed,  shows  a  strange 
absence  of  what  is  usually  considered  the  dramatic  element.  Yet  such  is  the  skill  of 
the  author  that  the  reader  is  led  on  as  by  the  most  vivid  material  tragedy,  compelled 
by  the  development  of  thought  and  feeling.  .  .  .  More  than  this,  the  book  is  a  constant 
intellectual  delight.  The  grace  of  the  author's  style  is  equalled  by  its  fimVh.  De" 
scription  and  conversation  are  like  a  fine  mosaic,  in  which  the  delicate  art  of  the 
workmanship  passes  unseen,  and  the  eye  catches  only  the  perfect  picture  until  a  close 
examination  reveals  the  method  of  its  structure."  —  Boston  Post. 

"  This  series,  so  far,  has  brought  us  no  prose  work  equal  in  depth  and  dramatic 
design  to  this  one.  ...  It  is  unquestionably  the  work  of  genius,  powerful  in  concep 
tion,  elegant  in  construction,  lofty  in  tone,  proving,  as  few  books  do,  the  power  of  one 
clean,  white  soul,  to  cope  with  evil  in  its  most  insidious  forms,  while  preserving  its 
own  '  crystal  clarity.'  .  .  .  But  who  wrote  this  story  ?  Whose  hand  painted  these 
marvellous  pictures  of  the  angel  and  the  demon  striving  for  the  mastery  in  every 
human  soul  ?  "  —  Tlie  New  Age. 

Our  publications  are  to  be  had  of  all  booksellers.  When  not 
to  be  found,  send  directly  to 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS,  Publishers, 

BOSTON. 


THE   "NO  NAME    SERIES." 


AFTERGLOW. 

"  The  seventh  of  the  '  No  Name  Series,'  '  Afterglow,'  is  a  strong  novel,  and,  in 
many  respects,  a  remarkable  one.  .  .  .  The  style  is  easy,  and  that  of  an  accomplished 
writer ;  the  tone,  through  most  of  the  book,  cool,  satirical,  with  more  than  a  touch  of 
mockery,  and  sparkling  with  unexpected  wit,  touches  of  exquisite  drollery,  and  ingen 
ious  lancies.  Although  each  character  is  by  itself  unattractive,  and  its  faulty  side 
carefully  displayed,  tne  complications  and  social  plots  are  so  easy  and  admirably 
handled  that,  mean  as  they  are,  they  become  of  great  interest,  and  the  matter  of  per 
sonal  mutual  influence  is  so  prominent  that  it  gives  the  story  a  philosophical  air,  and 
the  dignity  that  it  needs.  .  .  .  For  three-quarters  of  the  book  the  reader  admires  the 
cleverness,  the  capital  workmanship  only  :  he  closes  it  with  the  verdict  that  the  story 
is  not  only  clever,  but  that  it  is  far  more  and  far  better  than  clever.1 '  —  Boston  Daily 
A  dvertiser. 

"  With  the  exception  of  the  delicately  written  sketch,  '  Is  That  All?'  none  of  the 
'  No  Name'  books  have  been  so  good  literature  as  '  Afterglow,'  the  latest  on  the  list ; 
and  the  qualities  of  this  story  stand  in  an  order  which  ought  to  gain  it  the  favor  of  the 
best  readers.  ...  In  fact,  the  simple  and  direct  narration,  and  the  treatment  of  inci 
dents  and  characters,  more  than  once  recall  the  master  of  modern  fiction."  —  The 
Atlantic  Monthly. 

"  It  is  so  seldom  that  one  finds  in  a  recent  American  novel  a  positive  addition  to 
literature  that  the  issue  of  a  work  like  '  Afterglow,'  the  latest  volume  of  the  '  No 
Name'  Series  of  Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers,  merits  cordial  recognition.  The  book  is 
the  production  of  no  ordinary  mind.  .  .  .  Those  inclined  to  guess  the  authorship  need 
not  go  beyond  the  men  who  are  known  in  literature.  There  are  some  sketchy  features 
in  the  story,  but  there  is  a  firm  grasp  in  the  narrative  which  proves  the  hand"  that 
weaves  it  to  be  that  of  a  master.  It  is  thoroughly  polished  in  its  satire,  and  the  wit 
in  which  it  abounds  is  of  the  keenest  character.  ...  It  is,  it  may  safely  be  said,  the 
production  of  one  of  the  '  Atlantic  Monthly '  school  of  writers.  '  Afterglow '  is  not  the 
kind  of  novel  that  is  generally  designated  as  popular,  but  it  is  a  work  displaying  more 
talent  and  more  originality  than  any  of  its  predecessors  in  the  '  No  Name  Series,'  and 
will  be  a  standard  favorite  with  thoughtful  and  cultivated  people."  — Boston  Saturday 
Gazette. 

"  Whether  or  not  '  Afterglow,'  which  is  the  latest,  is  also  the  best  of  the  '  No 
Name'  novels,  is  a  question  upon  which  the  faithful  readers  of  that  excellent  series 
will  probably  differ,  but  there  will  be  no  hesitation  on  the  part  of  any  of  them  to  accord 
it  a  place  as  at  least  one  of  the  best."  —  N.  Y.  Evening  Post. 

One  volume.    Bound   in  cardinal   red  and  black.     Price  $1.00. 


Our  publications  are  to  be  had  of  all  Booksellers.     When  not  to 
be  found,  send  directly  to 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS,  Publishers,  Boston. 


"NO  NAME  SERIES': 


WILL    DENBIGH,   NOBLEMAN.' 

"  The  latest  of  the  '  No  Name  Series  '  is  a  simple,  lovely  Devonshire  story, 
exquisitely  told.  Will  Denbigh,  whose  name  is  the  title  of  the  book,  is  a 
noble  hero  ;  the  little  heroine  wins  and  keeps  his  heart ;  but  the  great  charm  of 
the  tale  is  not  in  its  love  stories,  hearty  and  direct  as  those  are,  but  in  its  pict 
ures  of  country  life  and  country  curates,  —  the  curates  who  must  be  scattered 
all  over  England,  of  whom  Charles  Kingsley  was  one,  gentlemen  and  scholars, 
who  devote  all  they  are  and  all  they  have  to  the  cause  of  Christianity,  and  whose 
lives  of  service  in  the  little  parishes  of  fanners  or  fishermen  are  a  close  following 
of  the  Master  whom  they  worship.  The  author  does  not  preach,  but  tells  these 
beautiful  things  and  paints  these  noble  and  tender  pictures  as  if  he  or  she  had 
always  known  them,  had  always  been  familiar  with  such  characters,  and  talks 
about  them  with  a  tenderness  and  direct  simplicity  that  makes  them  alive  and 
real  to  the  reader.  The  book  is  thoroughly  sweet,  sound  and  hopeful  in 
spirit ;  the  style  has  the  strength  and  simplicity  of  an  accomplished  writer."  - 
Boston  Daily  Advertiser. 

"  This  charming  and  clever  story  we  are  disposed  to  regard  as  the  best  tale 
yet  produced  in  the  '  No  Name  Series.'  "  —  The  Philadelphia  Press. 

"  Inferior  to  none  of  them  in  point  of  interest.  ...  Its  perusal  will  be  a 
source  of  delight  to  every  reader,  and  will  add  greatly  to  the  reputation  of  a 
most  deservedly  popular  series. ' '  —  New  Bedford  Mercury. 

"  The  novels  in  the  '  No  Name  Series '  seem  to  take  on  a  more  ambitious 
character  as  their  number  increases,  and  the  one  here  before  us  ('Will  Den 
bigh  ')  ranks  higher  up  in  the  scale  of  literary  merit  than  most  of  its  prede 
cessors."  —  Boston  Post. 

"The  story  admirably  maintains  the  reputation  of  the  series." — Boston 
Common  wealth . 

"'Will  Denbigh'  is  the  best  of  the  novels  that  have  as  yet  appeared  in 
the  'No  Name  Series.'  It  is  ajresh,  wholesome,  and  thoroughly  agreeable 
story." — Portland  Press. 

"'No  Name'  is  considered  a  perfect  guarantee  of  excellence.  The  last 
issue,  '  Will  Denbigh  '  will  not  detract  from  the  conceded  excellence  of  the 
series."  —  Albany  Evening  Journal. 

"On  the  whole,  'Will  Denbigh'  continues  the  series  well,  and  is  still 
another  kind  of  link  in  this  chain,  unlike  in  form  and  ring  of  metal  to  any  of 
its  predecessors." — Boston  Traveller. 

One  volume,  bound  in  Cardinal  red  and  black.    Price  $1.00. 

Our  Publications  are  to  be  had  of  all  booksellers.  When  not  to  be  found, 
send  directly  to 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS, 

Boston. 

' 


THE    "NO    NAME    SERIES." 
DEIRDRE. 

"  '  Deirdre  '  is  a  remarkable  poem,  written  in  ten-syllable  lines,  with  almost 
perfect  ease  of  versification.  .  .  .  The  author  has  an  enthusiastic  and  delicate 
love  of  nature  in  all  her  moods.  His  battle  scenes  are  all  set  in  glowing  land 
scapes  ;  he  sings  the  glories  of  the  earth  and  of  the  skies,  as  well  as  the 
achievements  of  his  heroes;  he  makes  ynufeel  the  weather  and  the  landscape, 
the  sharpness  of  late  autumn,  the  life  and  sweetness  of  spring.  The  fault  of 
the  poem  is  an  excess  of  its  beauties  (?)."  —  Boston  Daily  Adi'ertiser. 

"  Such  is  the  story  of  Deirdre  ;  a  story  of  extraordinary  power  and  pathos, 
and  one  which,  though  dealing  with  remote  times  and  barbarous  characters, 
awakens  a  strong  sympathy  in  the  breast  of  the  reader.  Some  of  the  passages 
of  the  poem  are  absolutely  Homeric,  particularly  the  descriptions  of  the  battles  ; 
while  there  are  here  and  there  subtle  touches  of  nature,  all  the  more  potent 
because  of  their  savage  setting.  Altogether  it  is  the  poem  of  this  day  and 
generation,  and  worthy  a  place  beside  the  best  work  of  the  best  living  poets  of 
England  or  America."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

"One's  first  thought  on  reading  the  last  line  of  this  poem  is  of  its  absolute 
integrity  of  excellence.  Not  a  faulty  line  mars  its  expansive  beauty ;  not  a 
Commonplace  sentiment  degrades  it.  ...  We  have  never  read  a  poem  whose 
perfection  is  so  steadfastly  sustained ;  from  the  first  line  to  the  last  there  is  no 
descent  from  the  original  nobility  of  thought  and  style.  ...  Its  atmosphere 
is  strangely  high  and  healthful.  Honor  rules  almost  every  act  in  the  eventful 
drama.  .  .  .  The  most  exigent  sense  of  duty  seems  to  animate  every  person  in 
the  poem ;  and  the  episode  of  their  deaths  illustrates  the  noblest  qualities  of 
human  nature.  .  .  .  Over  the  whole  sky  of  his  poem  there  broods  an  atmos 
phere  of  the  most  exquisite  refinement.  .  .  .  But  words  cannot  do  justice  to 
the  grandeur  and  beauty  of  'Deirdre;'  it  is  the  poem  of  the  century."  — 
Literary  World. 

"  Thus  '  Deirdre  '  comes  forth  a  grand  epic,  a  poem  of  which  America  can 
be  proud  as  the  country  from  which  it  issues,  and  all  other  reading  lands  glad 
and  satisfied.  There  is  in  it  the  grandeur  and  magnificence  of  the  Greek  of  the 
Iliad  and  Odyssey  ;  the  beauty  and  grace,  the  rich  imagery  of  the  /Eneid,  and 
the  rythmic  flow  of  Dante's  writings.  The  power  of  the  poem  is  not  spasmo 
dic,  the  genius  of  the  writer  is  not  fitful,  and  the  beauty  of  the  verse  is  nowhere 
hampered  by  artifice  or  lessened  by  signs  of  relapsing  from  the  highest  standard. 
On  the  contrary,  steadily,  firmly,  grandly  the  story  progresses,  with  a  rich  fer 
tility  of  poetic  skill  and  rare  picturing,  to  its  closing  page.  The  poem  is  des 
tined  to  live  and  rank  among  modern  classics."  — Boston  Traveller. 

"  '  Deirdre  '  would  have  attracted  attention  without  the  adjunct  of  mystery 
(No  Name?).  It  is  a  narrative  poem,  original  in  its  material,, boldly  conceived, 
and  written  with  sufficient  poetic  skill  and  feeling  to  separate  it  wholly  from  the 
crowd  of  crude  and  ambitious  attempts  which  are  constantly  issuing  from  the 
press. ' '  —  New  York  Tribune. 

"  The  reader  easily  discovers  that  it  is  a  poem  of  very  rare  quality,  a  great 
poem,  we  may  say,  without  misusing  the  adjective  ;  but  precisely  how  great  it 
is,  precisely  how  it  compares  with  other  works  of  a  like  kind,  it  is  not  easy  to 
determine  while  the  glamour  of  a  first  reading  is  upon  us.  For  the  present  it 
is  enough  that  we  shall  read  it  and  enjoy  it,  recognizing  its  richness  in  all  that 
makes  poetry  good,  and  learning  to  know  its  spirit  and  its  significance."  — New 
York  Evening  Post. 

In  one  volume,  16mo.    Cloth.    Gilt  and  red-lettered.     l»1.00. 

Our  publications  are  to  be  had  of  all  Booksellers.  When  not  to 
be  found,  send  directly  to 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS,  Publishers,  Boston. 


ROBERTS    BROTHERS,    PUBLISHERS. 


NO  NAME  SEEIES, 


The  "No  Name  Series"  of 
original  Novels  and  Tales,  by 
well-known  writers,  to  be  pub 
lished  anonymously,  will  be  is 
sued  at  convenient  intervals,  in 
handsome  library  form.  i6md. 
Cloth.  Price  $1.00  each. 

Works  already  Published: 

MERCY     PHILBRICK'S 
CHOICE. 

DEIRDRE. 

IS    THAT    ALL? 

KISMET. 

THE    GREAT   MATCH. 

A     MODERN     MEPHIS- 
TOPHELES. 

AFTERGLOW. 

HETTY'S  STRANGE  HIS 
TORY. 

WILL     DENBIGH,     NO 
BLEMAN.     . 

MIRAGE.     By  the  Author  of 
'    Kismet." 

THE     WOLF     AT    THE 
DOOR. 

MARMORNE. 

GEMINI. 

The  Nove's  in  this  Series  are  hav 
ing  a  larpe  sale,  nut  only  mi  account  of 
the  curiositv  attending  their  authorship, 

but  bticause  they  are  works  of  endur 
ing  merit  Some  of  the  most  popular 
writers  of  the  day  are  engaged  in  this 
enterprise. 


TOWN  AND  COUNTRY 
SEEIES, 

"  Books  sliould  to  one  of  these  four  ends 

conduce : 

For  wisdom,  piety,  delight,  or  use." 
SIR  J.  DENHAM. 

It  will  be  the  aim  of  the  Pub 
lishers  to  make  the  "  Town  and 
Country  Series  "  a  collection  of 
entertaining,  thoughtful,  serious 
works,  selected  from  the  choicest 
home  and  foreign  contempprary 
literature  ;  books  acceptable  at 
all  seasons  in  Town  and  Coun- 
try. 

Works  already  Published: 

BEN  MILKER'S  WOO 
ING.  A  Novel.  By  Holme 
Lee. 

FROM  TRADITIONAL 
TO  RATIONAL  FAITH. 

By  Rev.  R.  Andrew  Griffin. 

A    WINTER    STORY.      A 

Novel.       By    the    Author    of 
"  The  Rose  Garden." 

SYRIAN    SUNSHINE. 

Notes  of  Travel.    By  Thomas 
G.  Appleton. 

JAN  OF  THE  WIND 
MILL.  A  Novel.  By  Mrs. 
Ewing. 

i6mo.     Cloth.     Price  $i  oo  each. 


Tlie  books  in  the  "  Aro  Name  Series"  and  "  Town  and  Country 
Series  "  are  for  sale  by  all  booksellers  and  newsdealers,  or  u'ill  be  mailed, 
pa'paid,  on  receipt  of  price,  by  tlie  Publishers, 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS,  BOSTON. 


THE   "NO    NAME   SERIES." 


KISMET.    A  Nile  Novel. 

Opinions,  generous  tributes  to  genius,  by  well-known  authors 
•whose  names  are  withheld. 

"Well,  I  have  read  'Kismet,'  and  it  is  certainly  very  remarkable.  The 
story  is  interesting,  —  any  well-told  love  story  is,  you  know,  —  but  the  book  itself  is 
a  great  deal  more  so.  Descriptively  and  sentimentally,  —  I  use  the  word  with 
entire  respect,  —  it  is,  in  spots,  fairly  exquisite.  It  seems  to  me  all  glowing  and 
overflowing  with  what  the  French  call  beauti  du  diable.  .  .  .  The  conversa 
tions  are  very  clever,  and  the  wit  is  often  astonishingly  like  the  wit  of  an  accom 
plished  man  of  the  world.  One  thing  which  seems  to  me  to  show  promiae  — 
great  promise,  if  you  will  —  for  the  future  is  that  the  author  can  not  only  repro 
duce  the  conversation  of  one  brilliant  man,  but  can  make  two  men  talk  together  as 
if  they  tacrc  men,  —  not  women  in  manly  clothes." 

"  It  is  a  charming  book.  I  have  read  it  twice,  and  looked  it  over  again,  and 
I  wish  I  had  it  all  new  to  sit  up  with  to-night  It  is  so  fresh  and  sweet  and  inno 
cent  and  joyous,  the  dialogue  is  so  natural  and  bright,  the  characters  so  keenly 
edged,  and  the  descriptions  so  poetic.  I  don't  know  when  I  have  enjoyed 
any  thing  more,  — never  since  I  went  sailing  up  the  Nile  with  Harriet  Martineau. 
...  You  must  give  the  author  love  and  greeting  from  one  of  the  fraternity. 
The  hand  that  gives  us  this  pleasure  will  give  us  plenty  more  of  an  improving 
quality  every  year,  I  think." 

"  '  Kismet'  is  indeed  a  delightful  story,  the  best  of  the  series  undoubtedly." 

"  If  '  Kismet'  is  the  first  work  of  a  young  lady,  as  reported,  it  shows  a  great 
gift  of  language,  and  powers  of  description  and  of  insight  into  character  and  life 
quite  uncommon.  .  .  .  Of  the  whole  series  so  far,  I  think 'Mercy  Philbrick's 
Choice '  is  the  best,  because  it  has,  beside  literary  merit,  some  moral  tone  and 
vigor.  Still  there  are  capabilities  in  the  writer  of  '  Kismet '  even  higher  than  in 
that  of  the  writer  of  '  Mercy  Philbrick's  Choice.'  " 

"  I  liked  it  extremely.  It  is  the  best  in  the  series  so  far,  except  in  con 
struction,  in  which  '  Is  That  All  ? '  slight  as  it  is,  seems  to  me  superior. 
'  Kismet '  is  winning  golden  opinions  everywhere.  I  have  nothing  but  praises 
for  it,  and  have  nothing  but  praise  to  give  it" 

"  I  have  read  '  Kismet '  once,  and  mean  to  read  it  again.  It  is  thoroughly 
charming,  and  will  be  a  success." 

One  volume,  bound  in  cardinal  red  and  black.    Price  SI. 00. 


Our  publications  are  to  be  had  of  all  booksellers.     When  not 
to  be  found,  send  directly  to 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS,    Publishers,  Boston. 


— 


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